


BLUE EYES

by melicitysmoak



Series: Arrow/Olicity Historical AUs [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Deaths, Communication, Conspiracy, Cultural Differences, F/M, Fluff, Language Barrier, Love/Hate, No vigilantism, Romance, Sibling Rivalry, Somewhat pseudo-history, Suspense, Tension between races, Traditions and customs, Tragedy, Tribes and foreigners, hopefully some humor, learning to love, no gambit, olicity - Freeform, unplanned marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-10-06 09:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 84,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20504738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melicitysmoak/pseuds/melicitysmoak
Summary: "Oliver awoke to the unmistakable, rattling sound of distant drumming. He knew instantly what the rhythm pattern played on the bamboo blades represented. A life was being taken at the village gate in the presence of the tribal council... The tension between the natives and the white-skinned foreigners could no longer be kept at bay for long. Upon arriving at the village gate where everyone had gathered for an apparent execution, Oliver discovered that the life he was about to bargain for was that of a woman. A beautiful, blonde-haired and blue-eyed young woman, to be exact." He is the key to her survival. She is the key that unlocks the truth about his identity. They are the key to peace between peoples.An Arrow/Olicity AU, unfolding in a somewhat different time and a somewhat different place.Disclaimer: I do not own Arrow or its characters. They belong to DC and the CW.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This fic was already published here in November of 2017 and completed in September of 2018. I am reposting it as the second of a series of reposted fics between now and the series finale of Arrow in January 2020. Out favorite show is ending, and together with my last few WIPs, the reposts will be my farewell to Arrow and my thank you gift to all of you who have taken time to read any of my works and leave encouraging comments as well. When the show is done, my fanfic writing days will also be done at last. I shall be moving on in life, but I will still explore other avenue to hone my writing. Thank you, thank you.
> 
> If you have read this before, thank you so much for clicking on it again. :-)

Oliver awoke to the unmistakable, rattling sound of distant drumming. He knew instantly what the rhythm pattern played on the bamboo blades represented. A life was being taken at the village gate in the presence of the tribal council.

  
He opened his eyes and turned to his side, lifting his upper body with his elbow so that he could look through one of the windows of his treehouse. The sun had barely risen over the horizon, and early morning dew had just settled on the tropical greens, yet everyone in the village seemed already wide awake to witness an execution.

  
Heaving a sigh, he shook his head and grit his teeth in disapprobation. The killings sanctioned by the leaders of the tribe were becoming increasingly frequent. The tension between the natives and the white-skinned foreigners could no longer be kept at bay for long.

  
“Wandatu and his warring party must have captured another white man,” Oliver thought. Wandatu, one of the fiercest warriors of the Kinanyaos, had been hell-bent on exacting vengeance against the foreigners whom he blamed for the untimely and tragic death of his first and most favored wife Mempe, and their unborn child. Since then, Wandatu had no other goal in life but to see every white man he could find suffer. Oliver didn’t understand why the council continued to allow Wandatu’s irrational quest for the white man’s blood to continue. He believed that nothing good would come out of it; instead, it would only aggravate the lingering animosity and instigate further hostility between two peoples, both of which he considered to be part of him even if he did not exactly understand it fully.

Oliver – better known to the tribe as Asintado because of his impeccable aim and skill in using the bow and arrow – lived and walked the thin line between two races. Despite his almost completely native clothing, his long, braided hair, and his tanned skin, his natural complexion and the colors of his hair and eyes betrayed his origin. As the adopted son of the tribal chieftain, he had grown up with the brown-skinned Kinanyaos since he was ten. 

Through the years, he had imbibed their ways of ensuring survival, adopted much of their way of life, learned their language, and earned their trust and respect as a hunter and a warrior. He had not completely forgotten his origin, his former culture and language, but those had been pushed far back to his subconscious because of disuse and a lack of stimulus for him to respond to.

Five years ago, he had acquired his right of passage as a legitimate man of the tribe possessing free and lawful choice. Nevertheless, because he had always been keenly aware that a significant part of him did not belong, he had used that freedom to choose his life’s path. He had long since left the Kinanyao village to live on his own in the fringes of tribal society, and had begun to rediscover the ways of the white man by occasionally visiting Christentown, the nearest settlement of the foreigners, which was a half-day’s journey on foot from the Abu Mountains that the Kinanyaos considered their home.

Oliver put on his trousers and his boots – two of the few pieces of clothing that he had bartered for, in exchange for native deer skin at the settlement three harvests ago. After tying his hair and putting on his native headgear, he slung his quiver over his shoulder and picked up his bow. If he could intervene and stop another pointless killing, he would. 

He descended the rope ladder from the doorway of his treehouse, and as soon as his feet hit the dew-drenched ground, Oliver began to run. The accelerating tempo of the beats on the bamboo blades signaled the urgency of the situation. He just hoped that he would make it in time. For even if his previous attempts had always failed, he was just as determined as before to plead with the chieftain and bargain for another white man’s life. Perhaps if they spared that man’s life and sent him back to his people unscathed, the foreigners would reconsider giving the peace talks (which had begun years ago) another chance.

Except, upon arriving at the village gate where everyone had gathered for an apparent execution, Oliver discovered that the life he was about to bargain for was that of a woman. A beautiful young woman, to be exact. A female whose skin was even fairer than his, and whose golden mane made her stand out from the crowd of black-haired natives who anticipated her demise with confused stares. Her hands were bound with abaca rope, made from the sturdiest fiber available to the natives for making tools, building simple structures, and tying things up.

Even from a fair distance, the blonde’s blue eyes drew him in. One would have expected those eyes to be filled with fear at the prospect of near death, but what Oliver saw in them was not terror. He saw pure, unadulterated courage. Pride even. Oliver had seen enough faces in his past experiences in battle to be able to tell the difference. 

Oliver hadn’t seen a blonde-haired woman in ages. The last had been his mother, and her hair had not even been this bright and light-colored, as he remembered. The foreign women he had encountered in his visits to Christentown had brown, light-brown, or sandy blonde hair like him. Neither had he seen a pair of eyes bluer than hers (and his own). They reminded him of the first time he’d seen the ocean, when Robert, his father by blood, had brought him on the longest voyage of his life yet, the one that had brought him to this island more than fifteen years ago.

Everything about the blue-eyed woman’s appearance told him that they shared a common origin, and that intrigued him so. There was just something about her, and – if she lived through this – he intended to find out what it was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chief's favored son tries to intervene and stop another senseless execution, but the way he goes about it stuns everyone in the tribe.

As Oliver approached the village gate where men were getting ready to burn their female captive at the stakes, the drumming sounds of the bamboo blades faded. He heard Wandatu speak boldly and loudly in the native Kinanyao tongue.

“Noble Chief, my warring party successfully ambushed a group of foreigners that dared to trespass into our territory by way of the Abu Mountain Pass. Some of their men were armed and fired at us with their pistols and rifles, but we prevailed. All but this woman perished, yet we suffered the loss of the brave warrior Kai. Let this woman’s life pay the life debt that the white men owe our tribe. A life for a life. This is the Kinanyao way.”

The chieftain lifted up his head and addressed the other warriors. “Does Wandatu speak the truth?” he asked, in the hearing of all the villagers.

The warriors made fists of their right hands and placed them on their chests on top of their hearts. It was the tribe’s gesture of honor, especially when testifying to the truth.

The chief closed his eyes and uttered a prayer with uplifted arms, and then he gave Wandatu the command to proceed with the execution.

As Wandatu’s men dragged the woman to the stakes, she cried, “No! I am innocent! And we did nothing wrong! Please show mercy! Whatever have I done to deserve this injustice?”

Oliver’s chest tightened upon hearing her voice and her desperate plea. He could not understand everything she had screamed at the top of her lungs, but he had figured out enough to cause him to come forward in her defense. No. Nothing wrong. What if she was indeed telling the truth?

As the warriors bound the woman and prepared to set fire on the heap of sticks, branches, and dried wild grass beneath her feet, Oliver could no longer keep silent. “Wait!” he shouted in Kinanyao.

Everyone turned to see who had dared interrupt the execution ritual. The foreign woman looked as well, relieved that the interruption had bidden her more time.

Oliver made his way to where the chief stood in front of Wandatu, who was now the tribe’s fiercest warrior, all because Oliver had chosen to live his own life.

“Noble Chief Muidatu, allow me to speak in behalf of the captive that is to be executed today,” he requested.

“Speak, my son,” the chief said with a solemn voice. He was always pleased to see Asintado, his gift from the gods.

“A life for a life. That is the Kinanyao way. But if I recall the tribal code correctly, it clearly says a man’s life for another man’s life.” Oliver paused, his steel gaze shifting from the chief to Wandatu. “But the foreigner you have taken captive is a woman. I challenge everyone to recall the history of the Kinanyao people. Has any woman been put to death because of another man’s murder?”

Truth be told, Oliver did not know if there had ever been such a case or not. He had merely taken a chance. He knew that the tribe valued women to produce offspring, especially after the plague that they had blamed on the foreigners a few years ago. This was one of the only two ways - the less complicated one - that he could think of to save the blue-eyed woman.

No one spoke for a while. Perhaps no one knew the answer. Oliver held his breath, hoping no one ever would.

“From the time my father became Chief, and his father before him, I know of no woman among the Kinanyao that has been put to death for a man’s murder, either as retribution or as a substitute. The elders will attest to this,” Chief Muidatu finally stated.

Wandatu cleverly protested, “Nay! But that law only applies to the Kinanyao. The new code concerning foreigners that the tribal council ratified after the Great Plague supersedes that. In the new code, a foreigner taken captive becomes a Kinanyao slave. But if a Kinanyao warrior has perished in armed conflict, the captive’s life may be taken in his place. This new law does not distinguish between foreign men and women,” Wandatu argued with head held high.

“You speak the truth,” Chief Muidatu affirmed.

So much for his first attempt, Oliver thought. He could let this go, really. Let the woman suffer for the white man’s terrible past crimes against the natives he had come to love. But this woman… Something in his gut told him that she was an important piece of the puzzle that would reveal who he truly was – his true identity that he had been searching for, for as far back as he could remember his last few memories of home. Of his family and people of origin. She was the key, and he felt it in his bones.

“Then I invoke my right as the Chief’s favored son,” Oliver spoke with just as much confidence as his opponent, who was eager to set the white woman on fire without a shred of mercy. He knew that Wandatu’s anger would all the more burn against her, now that he had come to her defense – he, of all people.

The chief sighed deeply and was troubled. He knew what his adopted son was alluding to, and that his son had every right, because he himself had proclaimed it the day Asintado earned his rite of passage into manhood, an act that the council had also confirmed.

“On the day of my confirmation as the favored son of the noble Chief Muidatu, the council of elders from every clan had endowed me with the right to choose any woman from among the Kinanyao to be my wife – from any clan, any caste. The law concerning captives from armed conflict also makes this woman a Kinanyao slave, and therefore a part of Kinanyao community.” Pointing to the blonde woman bound at the stakes, Oliver declared, “I choose her to be my wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a first installment, I reposted the first two chapters. I thought the cliff would work better that way. ;-)  
I will be posting one chapter every other day from now on until the end. Thank you, and I do hope to hear your thoughts on this one, especially if you are reading this for the first time. :-)
> 
> 1\. At this point, I need to clarify that although this fic reads a lot like historical fiction and has roughly the characteristics of a period piece, it isn't, because it is not meant to be historically accurate. A while back, I learned about a sub-genre called pseudo-history, and I think that's the closest I could classify this. As I've explained before to a reader, a lot of the socio-cultural aspects of this fic will be drawn from pre-colonial and colonial Philippines, but the historical aspect will be loosely (VERY loosely) based on snippets of historically-based (or accepted, or even legendary) events, persons, and phenomena from various parts of the world in different periods of the past. Some ideas will come from Central and South American history, too. I'm also drawing inspiration from fiction that I've read or watched through the years - those that have left a lasting imprint on me. Still some ideas come from my own imagination. I know it's easy to judge or criticize a story like this as being eclectic or as lacking originality, but I don't really believe that all creatively written work is entirely original. No one really creates something that is totally "new"; all we do is innovate from someone's or other people's ideas. What I'm trying to do here is to create a world in the past that vacillates between reality (as we know it) and imagination. I hope I get better at achieving that effect. I'd appreciate it a lot if you can keep giving me feedback through constructive comments.
> 
> 2\. The scene in which Felicity is bound at the stakes to be burned alive was inspired by a poignant scene in the film adaptation of James Fenimore Cooper's "The Last of the Mohicans," made in the 1990s and starring Daniel Day-Lewis and Madeleine Stowe. I loved that movie. I cried in that scene where the British officer that had been proposing marriage for years to Cora, the lead female character, took her place to be executed by the native American Indian tribe. The British officer screamed in pain as the flames began to lick his feet, and the lead male character played by Day-Lewis just shot the guy from a distance to spare him the agony of burning alive. That scene has stuck with me through the years.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tribal chief has to settle a dispute that determines whether or not Felicity gets to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter is told from Felicity's POV this time. But before getting to that, we get to know more about Wandatu's and the Chief's back stories, both told from their POVs. For those of you who didn't catch it in chapter 1, Oliver's tribal name is Asintado. I thought of reminding because the name Oliver does not appear anywhere in this chapter.

“I choose her to be my wife,” Asintado declared, pointing to the female foreigner bound at the stakes.

  
Had he heard it right? Asintado had spoken in their native tongue, but Wandatu still could not believe his ears. Blood rushed from his extremities up to his torso and then to his head, as he felt his anger boil within him. His half-breed half-brother was going too far this time, and Wandatu was not going to let him get away with it. He would have cast the spear he was holding if it were not for the presence of their father, whom he still respected despite the jealousy he felt for his adopted half-brother, the apple of their father’s eye.

  
Wandatu held his ground and cried out, challenging his father’s favored son. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  
“I just did, brother!” Asintado replied resolutely. Asintado held his half-brother’s stare with just as much fervor and intensity as Wandatu’s glare. “The right of the favored son and the privilege bestowed upon me by the tribal chief, and the council, are just as legitimate as the law that enforces the execution of the slave you have acquired by capture,” he argued. His eloquence in the native language would have fooled any foreigner present as to his race of origin.

  
“Now you call yourself the Noble Chief’s favored son?” Wandatu said sarcastically. “Where were you in the wars we fought these past few years? When was the last time you risked your life to protect this tribe? And now, you dare challenge the law by invoking your right as the Noble Chief’s favored son? And for what? To save this white woman whose life replaces that of Kai, who sacrificed his life to protect our people against the enemy? Whose side are you really on? How could you stand in the way of Kinanyao justice?”

  
“This is not justice!” Asintado countered. “This senseless killing is borne out of your personal vendetta! Taking this woman’s life won’t bring back your--”

  
“Enough!” Chief Muidatu shouted, his voice echoing all around. His face is somber. Clearly, he is weighing his options carefully. “Wandatu appeals to law. Asintado invokes his right as the Chief’s favored son. Both raise valid claims for what is just and right. In disputes between two opposing sides of equal merit, tribal custom dictates that it is up to the Chief to rule fairly and settle the matter.”

  
The Chief paused to utter another prayer to Kabunyan. No one spoke or dared make a noise.

  
Wandatu already knew whose side the Chief will be on. He’d always considered their father a wise and upright man, but he had also resented that their father had always valued Asintado’s opinions more than his. Even now, he sensed that the Chief’s decision would, most likely, not be in his favor.

* * *

Chief Muidatu thought of a solution to the complicated situation, but he knew that neither of his sons was going to like it. No matter, he believed that it was most advantageous to his clan and to the future of his tribe. He also believed his decision addressed the loss of a valuable warrior, and would bring his favored son back to the Kinanyao community. Back to him. It also ensured that the leadership of the tribe will stay in his clan, specifically, his family. This had weighed heavily on him since the day Asintado left the village four years ago.

  
Muidatu’s first and most favored wife Gita had been barren. For years, he had prayed to Kabunyan to grant him a son, a male offspring that could carry on his legacy and leadership. When Gita had finally conceived around harvest time, Muidatu had held a week-long feast for the double celebration. But on the day his wife had suddenly gone into labor prematurely, the Chief hadn’t been there.

  
He had gone with the tribe’s warriors to intercept the traveling contingent of the new GovernorGeneral, whom they were told was on his way to negotiate a deal with a plantation owner in Christentown, who had intended to annex a huge part of the lowlands belonging to a clan of the Kinanyaos for centuries. They had been successful in carrying out an ambush, which unfortunately resulted in the murder of the Governor-General and the massacre of his military escorts; however, upon their return to their mountainside village, they had been greeted not by the people’s cheering, but by weeping. Gita had died giving birth, and so had the child in her womb.

  
Muidatu had wept bitterly over his losses, but when a warrior approached to ask what was to be done with the boy they had taken during the ambush, the tribal priestess had immediately uttered an oracle: “Muidatu’s loss is a mere test. Kabunyan has taken, but has also bestowed mercy and favor and given Muidatu the gift of a son, who would one day usher peace in the land.”

  
Muidatu always believed that finding the white-skinned boy on the same day he had lost his child had not been mere coincidence. He believed in the prophecy and clung to it in hope, even if the tension with the foreigners and the pressures from the different clans were intensifying. True, Wandatu was his own flesh-and-blood, his first son from the second wife he’d taken, but Muidatu had never deemed him worthy of taking the reins of chieftainship because of his short-temperedness and short-sightedness. Wandatu was much too arrogant and ambitious for his own good and for the good of the people.

  
“Be it known today that the Noble Chief of the Kinanyao so rules,” Muidatu spoke at last. “The white woman captured by Wandatu’s war party is spared. Asintado’s just claim to take her as his wife is granted; she will not live among the Kinanyao as a slave. As for the tribe’s loss of another brave warrior, I also rule thus: Asintado is commanded to return to the tribe and be counted among our brave warriors once more. His previous claim to freedom, and his abdication of his position as Chief Muidatu’s rightful successor are hereby overruled.”

* * *

The man who just finished his speech looked like he was someone important, perhaps even the leader of the tribe. Immediately, the fierce warrior that had captured her (and hated her for some unfathomable reason), was livid and furiously stomped away, disappearing into the thick foliage behind the crowd. The natives began to disperse in groups until only the tribal leader, a few of the elderly, and the man that seemed to have spoken in her defense remained.

  
Felicity realized that he would have to be the one to release her from the stakes. Truth be told, her mask of courage was beginning to slip. Her adrenaline rush was gradually dissipating, and she was on the verge of sobbing (pathetically) in the presence of the natives that remained, talking amongst themselves. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer, “Thank you, God.” She couldn’t say more. She knew that God understood everything else she wanted to say but couldn’t. To say that she’s grateful to be alive instead of miserably roasting like a piece of meat was an understatement.

  
When she opened her eyes, she gasped in shock. For right in front of her stood the man that had secured her deliverance, perhaps her freedom as well. Somehow, she understood that that was what he’d done. After all, communication was not just about words – and she certainly did not understand the entire verbal exchange of ideas in the tribal tongue. She was intelligent enough to read body language and facial expressions.

  
The man began to free her from the ropes that held her in place, and as he did, Felicity began to speak in her favorite dialect known only to her as fragmentary rambling. “Thank you. I suppose, that’s the least I could do… or say… to you… kind stranger… for what I think you’ve done… for me. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think… I think you just saved my life.”

  
“Welcome,” he said to her softly.

  
“You speak English,” she remarked.

  
“Some,” was his laconic response.

  
Felicity observed him imperceptibly. Part of him looked like he belonged to the tribe, but part of him didn’t. Except for his trousers and his boots, everything about his appearance was indigenous – feathered headgear, a bow in hand and a quiver strapped on his back, tattoos on his arms and part of his chest, the earring on his left lobe, and his long, braided hair. Nevertheless, the natural color of his skin and of his hair betrayed that he was indeed a foreigner like her. And his eyes – oh my, his eyes –were an intense yet intriguing pair of ocean-like blues.

  
Felicity hadn’t seen another blue-eyed person since they had arrived on the island. She began to relax, thinking that this unfamiliar, dangerous place had just become a little less dreadful than it was just minutes ago. Because of him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tribal chief's favored son claims his bride.

Once Felicity’s hands and feet were free of her bonds, the well-built stranger, who had saved her life, jumped off the slightly elevated mound of sticks, branches, and dried grass. He then turned around and motioned for her to get off, too. At least, that was how she understood the gesture he made with both his hands. 

Where she stood on was just barely two feet from the ground, but she hesitated at first about jumping into the arms of a complete (and very male) stranger in her long skirt. Her mother had always been very particular about good manners and conduct becoming of women in society. But her mother wasn’t here, and she was in the heart of a tropical jungle, and she had just had a very close brush with death, so… Throwing caution to the wind, she leaned forward, ready to jump. Before she did, the blue-eyed stranger’s hands were already on both sides of her waist. He lifted her easily and brought her down to the ground.

Seconds passed. Felicity was sure that the heels of her shoes had already made contact with the earth, but for some odd reason, the white-skinned native hadn’t let go of her. His sea-blue eyes looked straight into hers, and then fell to her lips, which she pressed together in embarrassment. With the exception of her father, she had never been this close to a member of the male species before. She was an only child, and had neither a male cousin or an uncle in both sides of the family.

The man’s eyes studied her face carefully, as if trying to memorize every contour, every shade of the hairs on her lashes and brows. When the man finally took his hands off her waist, it was only so that he could reach up with one of his hands to touch her blond locks. Her long, wavy blonde tresses had fallen from the neat bun that was usually the way she fixed them on a daily basis, and his hand was itching to touch them. Felicity gasped when his fingers made contact with the skin of her cheek. From the corner of her eye, she saw the tattoos on his forearm, as he tucked behind her ear some strands that strayed onto her face. She froze and held her breath. She felt like a specimen on display in the Museum of Natural History that she had found so fascinating when her father first brought her to Starling City as a child.

The man’s other hand wandered to her forehead, his thumb ghosting on her skin from her hairline to her left temple, which he gently stroked with his thumb. When he applied some pressure to it, Felicity winced a little. A bruise. She immediately remembered hitting her head when the carriage she was riding in overturned during the ambush. His thumb had no blood on it, so she was happy that the bruise didn’t come with a matching cut. Thinking that he must have simply been checking her for injuries, Felicity decided that it wouldn’t hurt to extend to him the same kindness that he’d been showing her so far.

“I… I’m fine,” she said politely, but avoiding the piercing gaze of his azure eyes. She didn’t know what she’d do if he kept staring at her like that.

The man took a step back.

“Just so you know, my name is Felicity. Felicity Megan Smoak. I’m pleased to meet you,” she told him, extending a hand for him to shake.

Oliver stared at her hand for a few seconds. He had seen white men in the settlement shaking hands, but he did not really know what it meant or what he was supposed to do if a hand was extended to him. No one had offered him that before. 

Felicity’s eyes narrowed in confusion. But soon, she realized that a handshake may not mean the same thing for the native stranger. She was about to withdraw her hand, but he caught it and lifted their hands in front of them at chest level. He then forced their fingers to flex until their palms were flat against each other. Felicity’s hand looked like a child’s compared to his bigger, calloused one. She stared at their joined hands, but he looked her straight in the eye and said simply, “Fe-li-ci-ty.”

“That’s right. It means happiness.” She smiled.

He broke contact with her hand and brought his hand to his chest, laying his palm flat on top of his heart, and said slowly, “Oliver.” 

He had not spoken his real name in so long. At times, growing up in the mountain village among the Kinanyao and then in the jungle all by himself, he thought he had forgotten it, forgotten who he’d been. Only a few memories were intact, and he had held on to them, afraid that he might lose them forever. That was one of many reasons why he decided to leave the village and live alone four years ago.

“Oliver. That’s a nice name.” She smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. She thought that maybe the natives did not smile when they meet people for the first time. They stood there staring at each other, until Oliver heard the sound of his father’s voice. 

“Asintado, come.”

Oliver approached Chief Muidatu as Felicity followed a few feet behind him.

“Forgive me, my son,” the Chief began to speak in the native tongue. “I respect your freedom and have no desire to overrule it, but I had no choice. For years, I have longed to see you take a wife, and I understand very well what you were trying to do for this woman. However, I could not anger your brother any more than he already was by granting your claim without cost to yourself. The tribe lost one brave warrior in the hands of the enemy. Kai had to be replaced to appease the gods, and the people. It is both law and custom.”

“I understand,” Oliver replied in the language of his adoptive father. He bowed his head, not just out of respect, but also out of sadness. It was ironic that he lost his freedom so that the blue-eyed stranger that had suddenly invaded his world could somehow have hers.

“Then you will also understand why I cannot grant you the honor of a traditional tribal wedding and feast. It will be like pouring sukâ on your brother’s open wound,” the Chief explained.

As the Chief spoke, a young woman came out of the village gate, carrying two ethnic necklaces. “Ah, thank you, Amihan,” Chief Muidatu said, and then he turned to face Oliver once more. “I asked your youngest sister to fetch these.”

The Chief held out the necklace made up of bird feathers, animal teeth, and tiny bones. Felicity thought it was a really weird-looking necklace, something she’d never think of wearing for any reasonable time and occasion. Oliver, however, bowed reverently, acknowledging the honor that  
was being bestowed upon him. 

“Return to your rightful place among the brave warriors of the Kinanyao, my favored son Asintado. Make our people proud and protected once more. May the blessings of Kabunyan and the gods of the Kinanyao be with you.”

“Thank you, father.” Oliver straightened up and held out his bow for his father and the priestess beside him to bless.

After this, the Chief held out the other necklace, the one made of colorful beads, tiny shells, and a huge pearl in the shape of a teardrop dangling at the center.

“This belonged to my first and favored wife Gita. I have been keeping this for the day you decide to marry.” 

This necklace, Felicity thought, was something that she’d like to have and wear. If the tribal leader was going to give her that, she was going to take such good care of it and bring it back as a gift to her mother. But to her astonishment and disappointment, the older man gave it to Oliver, who took it and bowed once more.  
Oliver turned to face Felicity and took a step towards her. He extended his free hand, which she took with slight trepidation. He brought her closer to stand beside him in front of the tribal leader and the priestess. Felicity guessed that she was being presented to the two elderly people who looked like they were very important people in the tribe.

Oliver lifted their joined hands, which Chief Muidatu and the priestess blessed, uttering prayers to their gods. When the Chief and the priestess let go of their joined hands, Oliver turned to face Felicity once more and put the beaded, pearl necklace on her. He looked at the pearl and then at his wife, and for the first time in many years, the corners of his lips turned up for a small smile – a smile that Felicity missed because she was too busy figuring out what was happening. She also missed the short exchange between father and son, before the Chief kissed the son he had gained back and left along with the priestess.

Oliver, too, was ready to leave with his beautiful bride. He turned to her and said, “Home,” taking her by the wrist. 

Instantly, Felicity withdrew her hand and winced in pain – physically, because of the abrasions caused by the ropes that had restrained her, and emotionally, because she felt that she was kept in the dark in all of this. With a voice stern and solid as the grip he had attempted to use on her, she demanded an answer. 

“Oliver, what just happened?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Pearls. I learned years ago that a man never proposes or bares his feelings for a woman using pearls because it's a symbol for tears (or making a woman cry). However, in the Philippines, pearls are precious because of the effort it takes to harvest them from oyster shells from the bottom of the ocean by deep-sea divers. In the olden times, indigenous peoples in the southern seas between the Philippine islands and Borneo dove without modern gear. I think some still do. In this story, for Chief Muidatu to have come into possession of a huge pearl meant that he traded a huge price with traders from the south for the dowry of his first wife Gita, because of course, you don't find pearls in the mountains.
> 
> 2\. Pre-Spanish Filipino peoples were animistic before they were introduced to Roman Catholicism by the Spaniards. They believed in and worshiped spirits. They also believed in gods and there were different terms for those gods in the various regions. In the indigenous peoples of Luzon and Visayas regions, the priests were female, called babaylans.
> 
> 3\. The social stratification in pre-colonial Philippines was basically divided into three social groups - the maharlikas of noble birth, the timawas or free men, and the slaves. The leaders of barangays (communities) were called datus in Luzon; hence, I chose to append the word datu to the names of the Chief and his son. Slaves are totally different from the usual Western definition. Slaves were not really "property." They became slaves if their parents were slaves, if they went into debt, caught as prisoners in war, etc. They were not treated harshly or inhumanely. One sub-category of slaves even lived in the house of their masters and had harmonious relationships with them. They could work to pay off their debt and regain their freedom. They could marry someone from another class, and they could go up or down the social ladder depending on what life brought their way. I've described that very loosely, but I think you get the point.
> 
> Some ethnic terms used:  
Kabunyan (also spelled Kabunian) - god of the Ifugaos in the Cordillera mountains of northern Luzon island in the Philippines  
suka - vinegar made from sugarcane by fermentation


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity finds out what just happened. Oliver finds out what she is really like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy the little touches of humor intended as a respite from the pervading tone of the first four chapters.

Oliver and Felicity made their way to the jungle to his tree house. _He_ trekked to the mountaintop where his home was located, while _she_ trudged down the uneven path several meters behind him, struggling to keep up as she held most of the thick fabric of her long skirt in her arms. The hike was taking two or three times longer than it usually took for him to get home from the village. She slowed him down, and he was beginning to get irritated that they were moving at a snail’s pace.

His new bride’s incessant chattering and complaining ever since they left the village gate wasn’t helping the situation. He swore by the tribal gods that he had never met a woman that talked so much, so fast. He also never thought it possible for so many words to come out of a person’s mouth at so short a time, and it didn’t seem like she was about to stop. Sure, he could stare at her beautiful blue eyes all day, but he wasn’t going to survive another minute listening to her protests. This woman was going to be the death of him.

The only reason that he hadn’t completely lost his temper and given her a death glare to end his misery, was that he had been able to empathize with her somehow. As his annoyance grew by the minute, Oliver forced himself to remember his first few days among the Kinanyao, how he had felt to be alone in the midst of a tribe of strangers. When the memories and feelings came rushing back to him, his boiling temper began to simmer down.

Who can blame Felicity for feeling this way? One minute she was about to die, and the next minute, she had become a stranger’s wife. It must be really hard for her to come to terms with her new life, just as it had been very difficult for him to adjust to the fact that he will never see his family again.

Felicity had asked him earlier, “Oliver, what just happened?” and he remembered thinking, “How do I tell her that she has become my wife?” He had groped for the right words, but for the life of him, he could not think of the English word for an _asawa_ or _katipan_. The vocabulary he had regained so far had not included it.

“Felicity,” he had said cautiously, as he took her hand and placed it on _her_ chest. Then placing her hand on _his_ chest, he continued, “Oliver.” He had squeezed her hand and added, “Make family.”

The best explanation he could come up with had not turned out well. Felicity’s widened eyes, dropped jaw, reddened face, and hands on her hips had told it all. She was mad, as furious as an enraged warrior eager to strike at the enemy.

“What?! There must be a mistake!”

“This is insane!”

“No one even asked me if I wanted to marry you! I guess no one had to, under the circumstances… But still!”

“This is my life, my choice!”

“I do **not** want to be married to _you_! Not that there’s anything wrong with_ you_. It’s not _you_. It’s _me_! I don’t want to have a husband! At least, not yet. Although, the fact of the matter is, I already do! Against my will, if I may add!”

“Isn’t there any way you could talk to your tribal head… or chief… or leader… or whatever he’s called… to take everything back?”

Felicity had been ranting the same lines (or multiple versions of those lines) since he started marching back to his home, motioning for her to follow him. At first, he’d thought that she wasn’t going to, but when he had disappeared into the jungle, leaving her standing alone at the village gate, she did follow him down the trail.

Oliver could hear her panting several meters behind him. He thought this would deter her from further whining, but no. She had a gift. She had a supernatural gift for talking unceasingly with a very loud voice. The only thing he was grateful for about all the torture his ears and brain were being subjected to, was that he was beginning to recognize some of the words he’d known in the past and was learning a few new ones, too.

_Mistake. Insane. Choice. Marry. Wife._ That was the word he had been trying to remember thirty minutes ago. _Husband._ That had to be him now. Interesting. In the midst of an irksome situation, Oliver was surprised that for the second time that day, he tried to hold back a smile. This had never happened to him before, as far as he could remember.

As they came around the bend just fifty meters away from his tree house, Oliver heard Felicity yell, “Stop, please!”

“What now? Please don’t tell me you want to go back,” he thought to himself. Oliver grit his teeth, mustering every ounce of self-control, before he stopped and turned around.

“I need to relieve myself,” Felicity said, head held high. It was a simple declaration, but she made it sound like a demand that shouldn’t be denied.

Oliver, however, did not understand what she meant. His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Relieve?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I need to… you know, answer the call of nature. All this craziness is confusing my bladder.” He still didn’t understand, and his puzzlement was written all over his face.

She attempted to explain again, adding hand gestures to help him visualize what she wanted to tell him. “Is there any place that’s private where I could… ah… release some liquid body waste… or whatever you, mountain people, prefer to call it? You do understand me, don’t you? I mean, haven’t you had to release bodily fluids before?”

The moment Felicity heard the most inappropriate thing that had ever come out of her overworked mouth, she blushed, and she immediately covered her gaping mouth with her hand. She wished with all her might that the ground she stood on would suddenly crack open and swallow her alive.

If her mother were here… Ha! This was her mother’s fault, passing on flawed genes that caused her tongue to babble and say the most embarrassing things. Donna Smoak had always been excessively particular about propriety when it came to her daughter’s speech and behavior; she had not wanted her daughter to grow up embarrassing herself in public like she had, countless times.

Sensing by the unchanged expression on Oliver’s face, Felicity realized that no harm had been caused by her words, so she began to relax. But when she was about to take a step forward and ask him again where she could relieve herself, Oliver’s face transformed.

Felicity recognized what it was even if she did not yet know very well the man that had just married her. The look on his face was one of fright and alarm. All she was able to utter was, “What’s…” before he shut her up by saying softly yet fiercely, “Do. Not. Move.”

She did not. Neither did she breathe. From the periphery of her right eye’s vision, she saw the object of his terror and panic.

A snake was stealthily slithering towards her, previously concealed by the varied shades of green in the nearby patch of grass. When it was just a couple of feet away from her exposed ankle (because she’d been holding up the hem of her long, thick skirt), it stopped. The hideous creature’s tongue flicked in and out of its thin mouth. Then, its head lifted from the ground until a third of its body was standing upright. Its hood fanned out, ready to strike at its perceived threat.

Felicity bit her lower lip, feeling resentful that she had escaped the flames just an hour ago only to end up being a slithering reptile’s breakfast. The last thing she saw before shutting her eyes swiftly was the snake lunging at her with its venomous fangs.

She felt her body shaking in fear, yet a second or two after, she did not feel the dreaded, fatal bite. So, she opened her eyes and saw Oliver getting rid of the awful creature. He had taken the snake by its tail, and just as he threw it away, she saw an arrow sticking out of its head.

The next thing she knew, the man who had saved her life twice in one day – the man she vehemently complained of marrying – placed his hands on her shoulders gently and said, “Felicity. Safe.”

Oliver thought for a moment how close he had come to lose the woman that he had just married, then he turned and walked away.

Felicity followed him the rest of the way, silently. Oliver smiled for the third time that day. Had he known that a cobra scare was all it would take to silence her finally, he would have caught one and held on to it as he walked beside her.

When they reached the tree house, he pointed to it and said to her, “Home.”

“That… is home?” she asked in disbelief. Shaking her head, she protested, “I am not going up there. Women don’t climb.”

Oliver responded with a low grunt that sounded more like an exasperated growl. “Stubborn woman,” he thought.

He started to climb the rope ladder, and when he was half-way to the top, he turned to tell her, “Up here, safe. Down there, snakes.”

When Oliver reached the top, he looked down below and saw Felicity climbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I am not fond of snakes. Really. For those of you who are, I hope I haven't offended you. So, the idea of giving Felicity a phobia for slithering reptiles is totally from personal experience.
> 
> 2\. After reading hundreds of Arrow and Olicity fics in the past two years, I've observed that in most of them, Oliver's character finds Felicity's babbling and constant talking quite adorable, or at least, he puts up with it because he likes her or has feelings for her. In this fic, he finds it irritating simply because he's not used to it. He's lived alone in the jungle for four years with nothing but flora and fauna and the animal kingdom as his companions. He's learned to prefer peace and quiet. So to have a woman come live with him (as his wife!) who talks and complains continuously? He's beginning to think that he might have made an impulsive decision, or a mistake. But of course, things will change eventually. What I won't spoil is how it will happen. ;-)
> 
> Some native Filipino terms used:  
asawa = a spouse, male or female  
katipan = lover; literally, someone with whom you have committed yourself to or vowed to be with; the root word "tipan" means covenant, so a "katipan" is someone with whom you keep a covenant with


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity struggles as Oliver tries to get her settled in "their home." We get a glimpse of Felicity's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for taking too long to update this fic, considering it's actually a completed, reposted story. Real life has been tough, like most times, and I have been under the weather on and off. To make up for this, I will be posting a chapter a day from here on. ;-)

Felicity was tired. So tired. 

She had lived through an ambush and a massacre of their traveling party, and then the savage natives had bound her hands and forced her to go with them back to their village, stopping only once by a clear stream to drink water. They had gone up to the mountain on foot, marching for hours in the dark, guided only by the moonlight, and haunted by eerie sounds from wildlife that she was still so unfamiliar with. She had been so scared, but she had promised herself that she would not let her captors see it. That was what her father would have wanted. 

Her father. They had murdered her dear father, and she had not even had time to properly grieve his untimely and tragic demise.

Felicity had always looked up to her father. Against her mother’s wishes, she had gone with him on this “mission of a lifetime,” because she believed in his vision. She had wanted to be a part of it. They were going to help change this part of the known world, and they were going to make history together. Nevertheless, every step she took as they hiked up the mountain had been a step away from that life she had longed to share with him far, far away from home. 

When she and the warriors reached the village at dawn, she had thought that things would get better. If they had wanted to kill her, they would have already done so, back at the mountain pass. But she had been mistaken. The next thing she knew, the tribal warriors were gathering sticks, branches, and dried grass and piling them into a mound, and then they began to secure a bamboo post on top of it. Something had told her that what they were building was intended for her. When natives had begun congregating at the village gate, and the bamboo instruments began playing ominous beats, Felicity had known that she was in deep trouble.

If she were to be honest, she’d readily admit how grateful she was to be alive, and how thankful she was to this man who had saved her life twice already. The same man with whom she now shared a little thatched bamboo house on top of a tree. The man who had taken her to be his wife without her consent. She struggled to be grateful and thankful under the circumstances –  
circumstances that were beyond her control. 

Felicity had always despised being placed in situations where she loses control. This was why she had come here with her father in the first place. She had run away from less than favorable circumstances in Starling City, where pressure from society and from her mother had become too great to defy if she had stayed there without her father. She had not persevered to finish basic education and fought her way through college just to end up like all her female contemporaries that had married young, had babies, and contented themselves with being homemakers. She had resisted her mother’s prodding and rejected a marriage proposal from Dr. Ray Palmer twice. 

Felicity did not want to be married to someone she didn’t love out of convenience. She had dreams. Dreams of making a difference, even as a woman. Dreams that only her father understood and supported. She had always only considered settling down with someone who truly understood her, shared her aspirations, and saw her as a person of equal worth and value. Felicity had always believed in her heart that she was born for something more than what most women settled for. 

Her parents, Noah and Donna Smoak, had always been proud of her, being the smartest child since the first day she set foot in the schoolhouse in their little town out in the country. At the young age of four, she had learned how to read with her father’s assistance, so the teacher had been quite impressed with the humble preacher’s daughter. 

When Felicity turned seven, Rev. Smoak had felt that he had a calling greater than just being a minister of the gospel. He relocated his family to Starling City, where he studied to be a physician while serving as an associate minister in one of the established churches in the area. When he finally became a practicing physician, his family’s social standing improved, and he was able to send Felicity to the best school, knowing that his daughter had a brilliant mind. Felicity had grown up wanting to be a scientist, but for some reason, no college in their part of the country would admit a young woman into their science programs, so she had settled for taking up a teaching profession.

One day in one of his house calls, Dr. Smoak had chanced upon treating the illness of a retired governor-general of one of the colonies in the Far East. Dr. Smoak had scarcely heard about Kinanyaoan Island before, but after an engaging conversation with his patient that day, he had taken great interest in it. 

Dr. Smoak had read about the Island from old newspapers and a few published accounts available in the public library, and he had become fascinated with the largest of a group of islands in the Pacific that had only been “discovered” by the Westerners some sixty years ago. He had found out that the colony was relatively young and had only two settlements established since, and that, while some of the island’s native inhabitants had not resisted foreign colonization and submitted to foreign rule, there were still some tribal clans up in the mountains that had refused to be “friendly” with the foreigners – especially not after the “Great Plague” some years ago that the dissenting clans had blamed on them, the circumstances surrounding which had not been clearly documented and publicized. 

Dr. Smoak had felt that God had called him to serve the people of the Island, both as a minister of the gospel and as a physician. When he’d begun to express to his family and friends his desire to follow this divine calling, only Felicity had empathized with him and supported him. She had asked him how she could help, and when her father shared with her that there was a need to establish another school in a new settlement on the other side of the Island, she had been more than excited about joining him in his mission. It had been a golden opportunity for her, not just to find the sense of fulfillment she’d been searching for, but also to escape her otherwise sealed fate as an unhappy, domesticated wife if she stayed in Starling with her mother, who refused to be  
uprooted from the comfortable life she had come to love. So, Felicity had left with her father and sailed for Kinanyaoan Island, eager to start a new life of purpose.

Only, now she seemed to regret the choice she had made. Felicity not only lost her father, she also lost her freedom. She had traveled half-way around the world, yet she still lost the one thing she had refused to let go of – the reins of her life. She still ended up married to a stranger she didn’t love, and she may never be able to practice her profession and make her dreams of changing the world come true. How could she, if she was now stuck in a miserable tree house with a half-native, blue-eyed stranger for a husband?

Truth be told, Oliver had been very kind to her all day. He had given up his only metal pail for her to use whenever she felt like she needed to relieve herself. He had gone out to gather food, and then came back to start a fire down below to boil saba and kamote, which she had appreciated. He had fetched them water from a spring, the nearest fresh water source on the mountain. He had also given her his only knitted woolen blanket, which she easily surmised to have been something he had traded for in one of the settlements. He had insisted that she take it, even if she hesitated at first, but when he brought out a hand-made cloak made of animal skin and fur, she figured she’d rather take the woolen blanket instead. 

Oliver had also told her (in not so many words), that they would leave for Christentown at first light the next day, because he’d been concerned that she needed more things than just the clothes she wore. Felicity was concerned that they needed to do something about the way they communicated, because they certainly could not go on this way – with him speaking English using only a few nouns and even fewer verbs, and with her groping for words he would understand while gesturing with her hands. She had decided that one of the first things she would try to obtain was any available book that she could use to help him relearn his real mother tongue.

Night had fallen soon after they had finished their leftover saba and kamote from earlier that day. It was when they both retired for the day – on separate sides of the small tree house – that Felicity’s emotions finally gave way.

She lay on the bamboo floor, her back turned against him. She covered herself to the neck with the blanket, even if the evening weather was only mildly cool. She tried to hide it, but Oliver could hear her soft sniffles and controlled sobs.

Oliver’s heart broke, knowing that Felicity was crying. He remembered those lonely nights he’d spent as a frightened, fatherless boy in his first few months with the tribe. Yes, Felicity was no longer a child, but it didn’t mean that she wasn’t afraid of what her life had suddenly become and of what the future held away from her loved one. He understood. And it pained him that he could not do anything to comfort her. He had not yet earned the right to, even if he was her husband by Kinanyao law. He wanted to assure her that things may not be as bad as she might think, but he didn’t know how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The inspiration for Felicity's back story is personal in two ways. First, my mother is a doctor, and my parents wanted me to be a doctor like her (or a lawyer like my father). She is my inspiration. I look up to her in so many ways. One of the things I love most about her is her dedication to serve others. In her 70s, she still goes on medical missions in depressed areas and rural towns, sometimes up in the mountains. And though she comes home tired, and sometimes bruised, she comes home always with a smile on her face. I think I could have become a good doctor, because of my exposure to various diseases and cures (thanks to my mom), but I honestly didn't see myself as someone saving lives that way. I did not become a doctor, but it is still a truly satisfying job to get to touch and influence lives by teaching, hence, the second inspiration for Felicity's back story.
> 
> 2\. Some native words used:  
saba = a kind of banana that is best eaten cooked (usually boiled or fried)  
kamote = sweet potato (a root crop), also eaten cooked (usually boiled or fried)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity have their first honest-to-goodness conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is... as promised. :-)

Oliver had been watching her for the last couple of hours. He couldn’t sleep, and from her body language, he could tell that she couldn’t sleep either. She had already stopped crying for some time, but judging from her uneven breathing, she was still wide awake, perhaps deep in thought, just like he was. He wished she would fall asleep. He was certain she must be very tired, having gone through what she had gone through in the past forty-eight hours, physically and emotionally. 

When Felicity turned and lay on her back, Oliver immediately shut his eyes closed, feigning sleep. It was too late, though, for she had already caught him staring at her. 

She sighed, and then said, “You know, since I can’t sleep, and you can’t sleep, we might as well make wise use of our time and get to know each other somehow. We are, after all, supposed to be…” She paused to clear her throat. “…man and wife.” She cringed, relieved that her supposed husband didn’t see it. “And, about that. Forgive me for my outburst earlier today. You’ll have to give me… time… a lot of it… to get used to the idea. Because you kind of… forgot to ask my opinion on the matter. But we could start with talking. I can do that. Very well. In case you hadn’t noticed. Which is, even for a stranger like you, quite difficult to not notice.”

Oliver opened his eyes as Felicity turned to lie on her side to face him. Even in the dimness of the night, with just a little glow of moonlight reflecting on the soft skin of her face, Oliver thought she was very beautiful to look upon. He focused on her captivating eyes to drown out the words cascading from her lips faster than raindrops fell from the sky.

Felicity noticed that he had stopped listening to her talk, babble rather. “Oh, I’m so… sorry. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. Again. My mouth tends to do that without my brain’s permission. I’m going to stop now, since--”

“Yes,” Oliver interrupted her. “Felicity, talk. Oliver, listen.” 

His eyes were piercing blues that seemed to penetrate into her soul, causing her heart to flutter a little and her tongue to stammer. “Well, uhm… Alright, th… then. Wh… What would you like me to talk about?” At last, she got her tongue to work again.

“Family,” he replied, still holding her gaze.

Felicity took a deep breath. She had just gotten her emotions and her tears under control. How could she talk about her family without reminding herself that she had just lost her beloved father? 

Sensing that she was hesitant to respond, and realizing that he had asked for something that might still be too painful for her to talk about, Oliver spoke first. “Oliver. Asintado. Same man,” he said, placing his hand on his chest to show her that he was talking about himself. “Oliver, son of white man and white woman. Asintado, son of Chief Muidatu, of Kinanyao people.”

Felicity’s eyes narrowed as she processed the information he had just given her. “I think I understand what you mean. Your real name is Oliver, and you have white people as parents.”

“P… parents?” he asked.

“Parents. Your mother and father,” she clarified. “Your real parents are white people, foreigners… like me. That means, you must have come from where I come from – somewhere far, far away from this island. Am I right?”

Oliver nodded. “Oliver remembers. Father, mother, boy Oliver come here.”

Felicity nodded in understanding. “Oh, so you were still a child when you and your family came here.”

Oliver nodded again.

“How young were you when you came to the island?”

Not remembering the English words for any number, Oliver held up nine fingers. 

“I see. What happened to your parents?”

Oliver couldn’t answer, not because he didn’t want to – he had come to terms with his father’s death a long time ago. He couldn’t answer because he had forgotten the English word for _dead._

Felicity sensed that he was having trouble expressing himself, what with the sadness that had taken over his face at the mention of parents. She regretted having asked for something that might have opened up old wounds. Oliver had been nothing but kind to her ever since, and he seemed willing to open up, only, he didn’t seem to know how. Thinking that he had earned the right to hear even just one piece of truth about her, Felicity decided to share it with him. Hopefully, he would be willing to share with her one more piece of his truth in return.

“_My_ father is gone,” she began to express. She wouldn't say_ dead,_ but saying it out loud that her father was gone brought tears in her eyes again; this time though, her heart felt a tad bit lighter than it did a few hours ago. Felicity didn’t realize it yet, but talking with Oliver about what had happened was cathartic and therapeutic. “He was killed when the warriors of your tribe ambushed our traveling party.” 

Her first tear fell, and Oliver would have told her to stop speaking, but her next words beat him to it. “When we left Paradise Point, I wanted to ride alongside him. But, my father is my father. He insisted that I sit inside the carriage instead of hopping on a horse, because it was safer. It turned out, it was.” She paused, as another tear oozed out of the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek. “I survived the violent attack that left everyone dead along the path we traveled on. Sadly, my father did not.”

Felicity stopped speaking. She pulled her blanket up to her face and used the edges to wipe her tears away. Oliver wished he could have done that for her instead. He wanted to reach out and touch her tear-stained cheeks but thought the better of it and stayed in his spot.

“My father promised he would ride right beside my carriage the entire time,” she went on to say, “until we get to Christentown, which was our destination, by the way. That’s where my father and I were supposed to settle and start our work.”

“Work?”

"Yes, work. My father and I came to the Island to help people. My father was a doctor. He helped sick people get well. He was also a minister, you know, someone who tells people about God.”

“God?”

“My father and I… well, actually, most of the people where _I_ come from… where _you and I_ come from… we believe that there is a God that created everything, an unseen but real Person who is all-powerful and in control of everything, and yet so loving that He cares about everyone, including you and me. We wanted to tell everyone on this island who would listen, that God cares about them too. But now, I guess, my father won’t get to tell them anymore.” Her voice quivered and faded with those last few words, words laced with sorrow and pain.

“Felicity tell Kinanyao people,” Oliver responded unexpectedly.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Felicity tell Oliver.”

“Well, I guess I could start with you. It’s not going to be easy, seeing we can hardly communicate well enough to scratch the surface when it comes to theological things. I loved conversing with my father about these things and a host of other interesting things. He always made complicated things easy to understand. And now, I’m beginning to miss him, and I think I’m going to start crying again if I don’t stop going off-tangent here. As I said, it’s not that simple. I’m not a preacher like my father. I’m just a school teacher.”

“Teacher?”

“Yes. I help people learn new things, specifically children. Mostly, I teach them how to read and write in English, and how to count.”

Oliver’s lips curled up slightly, and Felicity noticed a small smile forming. He was excited about something. “Felicity help Oliver read,” he requested.

Felicity sat up and smiled back at him. She was pleased that they were actually going somewhere in this conversation that they both dared to carry on. “I think that can be arranged,” she replied. “Tell you what._ I_ will teach you how to read and write in the language, which I’m certain was your mother tongue, if _you_ teach me how to understand and speak the language of the Kinanyao people. Do we have a deal?”

“Deal?” Oliver’s forehead crinkled in confusion. This time, he sat up too.

“Yes, a deal. A deal means that you and I agree about something. Do you agree with me about us teaching each other?"

Oliver thought for a moment, and then said with a nod, “Deal.”

They smiled at each other, and then both lay down again.

“Good night, Oliver,” Felicity said, pulling up the blanket to her chest.

There was no answer. When she turned to look at Oliver, she saw him staring at the thatched roof above him. Apparently, tribesmen didn’t greet each other ‘good night’ before retiring, she thought. She closed her eyes and was ready to sleep. 

Several seconds after, she heard him say, “Oliver’s father, gone. Kinanyao warriors killed Father, too.” 

Felicity sighed. Strangely, she felt a pang in her heart over his loss. She and Oliver had taken the first step, and they had found that their connection had more to do with the experiences they’d both gone through, rather than just the color of their skin. That was her last thought before sleep finally claimed her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity goes to Christentown with Oliver. The trek is long and eventful, but worth it. She meets his only non-native friend.

The half-day’s trek had not been as dreadful as Felicity had thought it would be. She made it to Christentown safe and sound, with Oliver leading the way, of course.

She and Oliver had left their mountaintop abode just as the sun had risen. Oliver had gotten up a few hours earlier while it was still dark, to gather food for the journey and to hunt for pilandok that he could barter at the settlement for the supplies that they needed. He’d been pleased to have chanced upon two male mouse-deer that had been too focused in a rather unpleasant territorial fight to have noticed him watching them. The kills had been easy with his bow and arrow. Although he had been happy to have two mouse-deer to trade with for twice the amount of supplies he ordinarily bargained for now that there were two of them, he knew that carrying both animals on his back would surely slow them down. He had also been able to pick a cluster of ripe bananas and to fill his largest wineskin with fresh water from the spring, and head back to the tree house just in time to wake up Felicity as the sun arose. After consuming a few bananas to store up energy for the long trip on foot, Oliver had handed her an extra pair of his trousers and had instructed her to change into them.

“Absolutely not!” Felicity had protested adamantly. “You can’t be serious. A lady can’t walk around wearing men’s clothes. I am not leaving this place wearing that.”

“Please,” Oliver had pleaded, with a slight firmness in his voice. He had only wanted for her to be more comfortable during the trek. Her heavy, floor-length skirt had already made it difficult for her to walk the mountain path from the village to the treehouse. The long trek down to the settlement would be five times more difficult wearing the thick, long piece of clothing. Oliver had tried a polite, diplomatic approach first, but when he had sensed that she was not going to give in so easily, he had tried a more radical one.

He had unsheathed the dagger hanging from his waist band, closed the gap between them in just a few brisk strides, and had begun tearing the thicker, outer layer of her skirt with his dagger.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Felicity had cried out, shocked at her strange husband’s  
brazen act. She had flinched, but she could not get away from him.

“Too much skirt,” Oliver had replied, followed by a loud, low grunt, daring her to protest further.

But Oliver still hadn’t known her well enough to figure out that Felicity Smoak would not accept defeat so easily. Protest further, she had.

“You can’t just do this! This was my mother’s skirt, made of the finest wool in Starling. Stop it!”

Oliver grit his teeth to keep his temper reined in. He just kept going, while she continued to object to such a “barbaric act” (in her own words).

“Felicity, you keep still!” he had finally answered back in a much more heightened voice. He had not wanted to hurt her with his sharp cutting implement, what with her constant fidgeting and shuffling in an attempt to get away from him, or to get him to stop destroying her favorite skirt altogether. But if she continued to move like so, the sharp edges of his tool might cut her.

When he had had enough, he had dropped the dagger to the ground, grabbed her firmly at the waist with his strong hands, and had pulled him flush into him. His steel gaze had been fixed on her bright blue eyes, and with a resolute voice, he’d told her, “Keep. Still.”

Felicity had lost herself in his gaze instantly, entranced by his equally mesmerizing blues. She had temporarily forgotten everything she had been complaining about. Her body yielded to his firm grip of her mid-section, her hands unconsciously grasping his forearms to ground her before her knees buckled at the realization of how close they had been. An eternity of silence passed, and all the while Felicity had submitted to his command to keep still, unawares. Their faces had only been a few inches apart; it had been as if they could feel the rhythmic throbbing of each other’s hearts in the handspan gap between them. Oliver had not wanted to let go, for he had never felt that way for another female before.

Before long, he had taken a step back and simply said, “Thank you,” to which, her only response had been silence and a deep breath.

Then, he had knelt down, picked up his dagger, and proceeded to rip the inner layer of her skirt at the hem. This time, she had simply watched him quietly. Not a word had come out of her mouth as he shortened what was left of the cotton fabric of her skirt, leaving the creamy, white skin of her lower limbs exposed, from the knee down.

Oliver had gasped when he’d realized what he’d done. He’d been taken aback, unexpectedly. He’d grown up seeing more skin than that, for the Kinanyao had always worn much less clothing, covering only the most essential body parts. The women in particular had always worn shorter skirts that ended at mid-thigh and used only ethnic woven cloths to cover just their breasts every day, wrapping around their shapely torsos to the back where they tied secure knots. He had seen bare arms and legs countless times before. Yet for some reason he could not yet fathom, Oliver had had a different response upon seeing Felicity’s bare lower limbs, which he had considered admirable, attractive, and beautiful. Precious, even. He would have touched them just to satisfy his fascination and desire – and he’d thought that as her husband he had the right to – but he’d known better and had restrained himself. “Someday,” he had said to himself, “someday.”

When he looked up at her again, he’d seen no anger or protest in her eyes. No shame. The fire that had been there had died like cooling embers, and he had sensed her relaxing and yielding, no longer resisting. “Skirt now better for long walk.” 

To his pleasant surprise, Felicity had nodded and replied, “Thank you.” He’d sensed an ironic mixture of intensity and fondness in her eyes, but he hadn’t been sure what it had meant.

Oliver had picked up the game he would be trading with and strapped them on to his shoulders, his quiver between the two mouse-deer on his back. Then he had picked up the rest of his traveling gear and his bow. He’d given the basket of bananas and the wineskin filled with drinking water to Felicity, and then they had gone on their way.

They had stopped twice to rest and catch their breath. The first time had been by a stream, to replenish their water supply and splash cool water on their faces. The second time had been by the Kipot River, just a couple of miles away from the settlement. There they had rested and eaten the rest of the bananas for a noontime meal. 

It had been an enjoyable meal together, all the angst in the early morning long gone. Most of the trek had been done in silence, but the first stop at the stream and the second stop by the river had been opportunities for more friendly conversation. 

At Felicity’s prompting, their first language lesson had begun. First, she taught him how to refer to himself as “I” or “me,” and then she taught him how to refer to her as “you.” When Oliver finally learned to say, “I am Oliver,” and “You are Felicity,” she had been so enthused that she clapped her hands with glee. She then proceeded to teach him basic possessives like my and mine, your and yours, our and ours. 

Oliver likewise had felt very enthusiastic. He had asked her to teach him how to count in English. When Felicity had begun counting from one to ten, it had not taken him long to recall and articulate the words. She had been so thrilled and proud of him. 

When it had been Felicity’s turn to learn from him, he’d taught her first how to introduce herself in Kinanyao, and then he had taught her how to greet people in the morning, mid-morning, noontime, early afternoon, late afternoon, and evening. It had been confusing at first, because she also had to learn the proper intonation for each syllable, but in the end, she had mastered the native greetings satisfactorily enough that it had made Oliver smile fondly.

By early afternoon, they reached Christentown. The first thing Oliver did was to look for his only trusted friend in the entire settlement. They passed through the open market, and at the very end they found the man they were looking for in the tobacco shop, packing crates of the merchandise, ready for shipping to the trading posts in the Western world.

“Big John!” Oliver greeted his friend, a tall, muscular, dark-skinned man named John Diggle.

The man turned around and flashed his friend a winsome smile. “Asintado! It’s good to see you again, my friend,” John said, coming towards them. “I see you’ve brought a friend.” 

John’s eyes glistened with glee. It was nice to see his friend with a woman of the same skin color as he had. John had so many questions running through his mind at that moment, wondering who this woman was and where she had come from, for she was certainly not from town. He also wondered where, when, and how they’d met, for Asintado had always come to the settlement alone. He wondered why Asintado and his female companion had come to him that day.  
But before John finally decided which question he wanted to ask, Oliver spoke first, “Big John, meet Felicity, my wife.”

Felicity was blushing. 

John Diggle was flabbergasted and amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it is at this point in the story that OTA is now complete. Hello, John Diggle! 
> 
> 1\. "Pilandok" is the native term for the mouse-deer that is endemic to the island of Palawan in the Philippines. It is a mammal that looks like a deer and has a head that looks like that of a mouse. It is relatively smaller than a deer, more like the size of a goat. It's a shy type of nocturnal animal that feeds on fruits, leaves, and grass. Interestingly, it has a unique tendency to become suicidal when stressed, banging its head against trees or jumping off cliffs. Pilandok meat is considered a delicacy, and the animal's skin is also used to make leather, which are why hunting has caused a decline in the population of mouse-deer. The pilandok has been put on the endangered species list.
> 
> 2\. In pre-Spanish Philippines, barter was the means of trading and exchanging goods and services without the use of money. In the story, Oliver had no money, so he had to find something of worth and value to the people of Christentown, so that he could get what he and his new wife needed for the next few weeks.
> 
> 3\. "Kipot" in Tagalog means narrow in English. I imagined the Kipot River as one that isn't so wide and may be easily crossed by boat or raft.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More about Oliver's past and a little bit about John Diggle's through his POV

Big John couldn’t believe his ears. Had Asintado indeed called the petite, blonde, young woman _his wife?_ Since when had the adopted son of the Kinanyao chief changed his mind about becoming someone’s husband? The stalwart warrior and favored son of the chief of the Kinanyao had not mentioned anything to him about any prospective mate – a white woman, at that – the last time he had come to town, just about a month ago. Where did this woman come from? And why had she suddenly become his wife?

John Diggle had met Asintado for the first time three years ago. He had stumbled upon an impending fight in the marketplace between the half-native, half-Caucasian stranger and three native townsfolk who were attempting to outwit the man in what was supposed to be a fair exchange of modest clothing and some tools for _pilandok_ meat and skin. Asintado had obviously come down straight from the mountains and was wearing only a tribal loincloth, but he was armed with a bow and sharp, pointed arrows. Just by the muscular physique and confident stance of the long-haired, white-skinned, and noticeably blue-eyed stranger, John had immediately considered him a fierce warrior, a fact attested to by the numerous tattoos on the man’s torso and arms despite his palpably young age. In John’s estimation, the man that had mysteriously appeared in their town that day would have easily subdued the three shrewd vendors without any assistance. Still, John had intervened in time, more for the sake of those deceitful scoundrels who had dared cheat a Kinanyao warrior and would have died or suffered severe injuries if he had allowed such a skirmish to take place. 

Asintado had thanked John for his kindness without saying much, and yet it had taken some time before he had learned to trust John as a friend. John had always thought that Asintado’s reluctance at friendship back then had been due to the color of his skin, his size advantage, the language barrier, or a combination of two or all of these factors. But when they became friends later on, John found out that Asintado’s initial trepidation had nothing to do with any of these. Asintado had been taught from Kinanyao myths that dark-skinned men were physical embodiments of wicked, lesser gods that _Kabunyan_ had banished from the earth to the  
underworld. John had proven himself to be a trustworthy fellow, someone who had earned Asintado’s respect and confidence. 

Asintado had also come to accept John as kin – more like an older brother, hence, the nickname “Big John,” which had more to do with their relationship than with the dark-skinned man’s physical size. He had always looked forward to his encounters with Big John in the past two years, not just for the company he gained, but also for the many new and interesting things he’d learned. 

Through his interactions with Big John, Asintado had begun to recover some of his forgotten English. He’d relearned how to say _thank you, goodbye, hello,_ and _friend_. He’d learned to speak words that brought back some his childhood memories – _home, family, father,_ and _mother_. He had also learned words for common actions, like _tell, listen, go, make, eat, drink, help, sit, stand, buy_ and _sell_. Each time he came to the settlement, he’d go see Big John first and tell his friend what it was that he needed. Big John was always willing to help.

In one of his visits when he had stayed the night in Big John’s quarters (without the knowledge of his employer, of course), the two friends had touched upon the subject of women. 

“In all honesty, I don’t think I will ever be married,” John had told Asintado in confidence.

Asintado had not asked why out loud, but John surmised from his facial expression exactly what his response had been, John had gone on to say, “I love a woman I am not allowed to be with. Because of the color of my skin. Because I’m just a hired servant. I still don’t understand why, considering I’m already a free man. The law does not forbid it. But… It’s just the way things are. I guess many things unspoken and unwritten are more powerful than those that are.”

Asintado had not understood John’s explanation. To him, it had not made sense at all. Among the Kinanyao, a nobleman or a free man (who either owned land or rented it) could marry a worthy woman from any social class he wanted. He himself had been given the privilege to choose a wife from any clan, any class, even if he was the white-skinned son of the Chief. Asintado had thought it strange and restrictive, coming from foreigners who had always treated his native people as though they were an inferior race.

“Sorry,” Asintado had said to comfort his friend.

John had replied, “Don’t be. I have accepted it from the moment I laid eyes on her. I just count every moment that I can see her as a blessing. I’m happy that way.” After a brief pause, John had asked Asintado, “And you? Is there a special woman among the Kinanyao that has caught your eye?” 

John had only meant to tease. However, Asintado, being a young man of somber temperament on most days, had taken the question seriously and indicated his answer by a vigorous shaking of his head.

“None?” John had wanted clarification, for he’d found it hard to believe that someone like Asintado had not found someone special.

“None.” Asintado had wanted to elaborate further, but with his limited vocabulary, he hadn’t been sure how to. 

He had wanted to tell Big John that there was a young woman once – Shado, the daughter of Yao Fei, the leader of one of the Kinanyao clans that had lived in the lowlands. His father Chief Muidatu and Yao Fei had attempted to strike a match between him and her. He had only met Shado twice, but he had instantly admired her skill in archery, which was something that he  
thought could make him like her eventually, granted the arranged marriage pushed through. He had already become a skilled warrior then, but he had not yet earned the rite of passage into manhood, for he was not yet of age to be considered a man in Kinanyao society that could make decisions for himself and participate in the settlement of tribal issues.

Unfortunately, before the betrothal could proceed, Yao Fei had suspiciously allied himself with a wealthy and highly influential foreign businessman that had helped the colonial government to establish a new settlement called Christentown on the other side of the island just a few years ago. Yao Fei had already signified his acquiescence to sell the land that belonged to his clan, just like another leader of a Kinanyao clan had done decades ago, which allowed the foreigners to expand the first settlement at Paradise Point, and pushed the rest of the clans further up the mountains. This had angered Chief Muidatu, and had caused rifts between the more liberal clans loyal to Yao Fei and the more traditional clans loyal to the chief. Chief Muidatu had regrettably withdrawn from the impending betrothal, having felt betrayed by a close friend and fellow tribal leader.

Soon after this, the Great Plague had happened, wiping out Yao Fei’s clan almost entirely. Many of the natives in the other clans, including Asintado’s had also been infected and had perished. The Kinanyao natives that had fallen sick had survived because of the humanitarian efforts of a handful of missionaries from Paradise Point that brought them a cure. The survivors had become permanent residents of the settlement after they had miraculously recuperated from the deadly disease.

Sadly, the young woman named Shado had not been one of them. 

When Asintado was later on confirmed at age 20 and declared the favored son of the Chief, he had gained certain responsibilities and rights in their society. Among those rights was the freedom to choose a wife for himself and to choose his life’s path. First, Asintado had decided to leave the village and live in isolation in the jungle a year later, having desired to rediscover his origin after a life-changing incident in battle that had become a major turning point in his life – something that he had never shared with anyone else. Second, he had resolved not to marry until he had uncovered his true identity, the secrets behind the death of his father, and answers as to what could have become of his mother. 

Asintado believed that it wouldn’t be fair for any woman to marry a man she did not truly know and love, especially someone who did not even know himself in the first place. He needed to understand who he was first before he brought another person into his life who would become the mother of his children. For who would _they_ be if their father did not know who he was? 

Asintado also believed that unlocking his origin and identity would guide him in choosing who to marry. Would he take a wife from among the Kinanyao women that he had grown up with? Not one of them struck him as interesting enough, much less physically attractive for his liking. Would he rather find himself a suitable partner from among the foreigners? That is, if he decided that he had as much in common with them as he had with the natives that had raised him. And if he did, would any white woman in her right mind agree to marry someone like him, who outwardly looked more Kinanyao than not?

Yet in an unexpected turn of events, Asintado found himself married. To a beautiful blue-eyed woman that has captivated his heart in just two days. Somehow in such a short span of time, and despite her stubbornness, she was fast becoming _his felicity,_ pun intended. 

Looking at Big John’s bemused and amused face, he knew that his friend was waiting for an explanation. And oh, how he wanted to share with John the exciting news that he just might have found himself the right match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The inspiration for Paradise Point is the city of Manila, which is located very close to the Manila Bay. In Manila you will find the walled city of Intramuros, which is one of the oldest fortified cities on the islands, established by native Filipinos long before the Spaniards came. The walls still stand today, overlooking the bay, and Intramuros is a favorite tourist spot in Manila where old buildings stand along with new commercial establishments.
> 
> 2\. Oliver is consistently referred to as Asintado here for a reason. Despite their past encounters and interactions, Big John does not know his real name yet. Oliver has chosen not to reveal it, for reasons yet to be revealed later on - but not because he does not trust his friend. Asintado in Tagalog describes a sharp shooter, someone with flawless, perfect aim. It's perfect for an archer. ;-)
> 
> 3\. I hope the timeline of the back stories have not confused you so far. I think that's a possibility if you have been following this since chapter 1.
> 
> 4\. I have taken the creative license to make readers rethink their position about superior vs. inferior races and civilizations. I've often wondered why people who think they've "discovered" some place assume that those who have already lived there for centuries are not as civilized as they were just because they have a different culture. Pre-colonial Filipinos had a pretty much civilized society even before the Spaniards reached our shores. People were organized into social classes, had political leaders, laws and a legal system, practiced a variety of livelihoods and traded with the Chinese and Arabs quite frequently and peacefully. The Spaniards have done many positive things for the Philippines, but among the negative effects of colonialism - I am afraid - is the ethical abasement it has ingrained among our people that we are "lesser" compared to our Western counterparts. 
> 
> 5\. I have also tried to address the issue of discrimination and the social taboos that are consequences of this social problem. In the show, I think hardly anyone has a problem with John Diggle being with Lyla Michaels; but in the historical period where this story roughly takes place, it was pretty much unacceptable, or at the very least, maybe frowned upon. I hope I have not offended anyone by exploring these issues in this chapter. I just thought that they deserved some attention and some reflection. I'll leave it up to you to draw your own conclusions.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity spend the rest of the day in Christentown. Felicity makes new friends and discovers something new about Oliver.

The entire afternoon in Christentown had been spent securing supplies that Oliver and Felicity will need for the coming weeks. Some of the tools and utensils they needed had been handed down or lent by Big John so that they did not have to purchase new ones from sellers in town. 

Big John had told them that he would much rather they saved the money they’d gotten from selling the two mouse-deer they’d brought so that they could buy a horse. Of course, what they had gotten from the sale of the pilandok hadn’t been enough for a decent horse, considering the value of such an animal that wasn’t endemic to the islands and had to be brought from overseas for the first time about three decades ago and then bred locally. But with the generosity of Big John, who offered to loan them the money he had been saving to build himself a cabin instead of dwelling in one of his employer’s servants’ quarters, Oliver had been able to bargain for a light brown steed with long, white mane. The old horse was quite handsome, even for a domesticated animal that had already worked for most of its life. The horse would not live as long as Oliver wished it would, but it had to do for now. He’d intended it only for carrying burdens too heavy for him to carry up and down the mountain, which most certainly included his new wife, who did not have much experience in long journeys on foot – something that he had taken notice of earlier that day.

While Oliver and John gathered supplies, Felicity had spent the afternoon with a woman named Lyla Michaels, who owned and ran her deceased father’s general store, which also housed the only inn in Christentown on its second floor. Felicity had thought that Lyla must have been a very good friend of Big John to have given his “friends” some goods for free. From the store, Lyla had given her some soap for bathing and washing, a hairbrush and a small hand mirror. Lyla had also given them salt, pepper, and other spices, carefully demonstrating in her kitchen how she can prepare food that will last longer despite the temperature and humidity in the island. 

Felicity had appreciated all that very much, but when Lyla added to their loot two pounds of sugar, half a pound of tea bags, and half a pound of freshly ground coffee beans grown from Big John’s master’s plantation on the island itself, Felicity had been in tears. She had launched at Lyla and engulfed the older woman in a hug, crying, “Thank you so much!” Felicity had gone on to tell her new friend how much she loved coffee and had been secretly craving for it for the last few days.

Lyla had smiled, telling Felicity that she was not yet done. She had brought Felicity upstairs to her bedroom, where she handed down to her a pair of leather-strapped sandals and a few changes of clothes, including skirts made of lighter fabrics that were more suitable for living in the mountains, and a pair of trousers that Lyla herself had sewn for when she went out hunting in the woods with John. She had been very happy that she and Felicity were almost exactly the same size in clothing and footwear. By the time she was done, Felicity had been in tears again,  
overwhelmed by the kindness of the woman who had just met them that day. 

The four of them shared a hearty dinner that evening. They enjoyed friendly conversation, which later on led to Big John and Lyla learning about what had happened to Felicity en route to Christentown, and about how she ended up married to their friend Asintado. 

Lyla held Felicity’s hand as she wept, telling them how painful it was to have become fatherless so suddenly in a strange land. Oliver stared at their joined hands, wondering when he could be the one to comfort Felicity that way. John didn’t fail to notice this, deciding to speak up before an enjoyable evening completely turned into a dreary one.

“Asintado, I’ve asked Lyla if you and Felicity can stay in one of the rooms upstairs for the night, and she most gladly obliged. As much as I would warmly welcome you into my quarters like before, I do not think it appropriate for your new wife to be spending the night with you and me in such a cramped space.” John smiled, shifting glances between Oliver and Felicity. “Also, my employer and his family arrived this morning from Paradise Point. I do not think he would approve if he finds out I have strangers staying with me in his property.”

“I understand,” Oliver replied.

“Felicity, would you be interested in a nice, warm bath before you retire for the night? It would probably be another fortnight or two before you come visit here again and enjoy one,” Lyla asked, chuckling a bit.

“Ah, yes. That would be nice, thank you,” Felicity answered. “Our tree-top abode does not exactly lend itself to private, luxurious bathing.” She laughed a little, and it felt good after almost breaking down in sorrow in front of her new friends. 

With that, they all stood up and left the dinner table. Lyla asked John to show Oliver to their room and proceeded to assist Felicity with her bath.

About an hour later, Felicity was done. She cleaned up, thanked Lyla, and bid her hostess ‘good night.’ She sauntered down the narrow hallway, wearing modest sleepwear that Lyla had lent her for the night. She wore a contented smile on her face as she combed her hair, clutching a woolen shawl that was draped around her shoulders to keep her warm while her hair was still wet. After everything she’d been through in the past two days, she really didn’t think that something as simple as a quiet, warm bath would make a difference, but it did. She had lingered a bit longer in the water than she intended, allowing its warmth to relax her tense muscles and her tired mind. She made a mental note to get up early the next day and help Lyla to prepare their morning meal to show how grateful she was for everything the woman had done.

Coming from Lyla’s room, Felicity had already passed two doors. When she stopped in front of the last one – which Lyla had told her was theirs for the night – she was so lost in thankful thoughts that it did not occur to her to knock before she entered the room. When she opened the door so abruptly, she was startled at the sight that greeted her. Across the room in plain sight was Oliver, with his back turned against her, crouching low on the wooden floor, as it appeared he was preparing a place to sleep on. 

While Felicity had only ever seen the man shirtless, displaying his tattooed torso in all its muscly glory, she was not prepared to see him with his hair untied, and in nothing but a loincloth tied around his waist. The room was dimly lit by some candles, but the view barely left anything to the imagination of a fair maiden like her who had never seen the male physique before, except in sketches found in scientific and medical books that her father owned.

“Oh.” 

Felicity’s gasp was louder than the interjection that her vocal cords produced involuntarily. Nonetheless, those sounds were almost inaudible compared to the crashing sound of her hairbrush on the hard wood floor.

Oliver turned and then stood up to face her. He had not meant for her to stumble upon him without his trousers on. For a split-second he regretted preparing his sleeping spot before putting his trousers back on, but the awkward situation did not really faze him. Unlike Felicity, there wasn’t a shred of shame in his eyes and in his confident stance. He was used to being stared at and admired by every young woman in his tribe who wished he would one day pick her to be his wife. 

What he admired at that moment was the woman that stood at the door wearing a simple, off-white linen evening gown – every bit of her desirable, from her long, damp blonde hair to her bare feet. The gleam in his eyes and the slight smile on his face had rendered her speechless; she was blushing like a ripe tomato in embarrassment.

“Forgive me. I… I didn’t mean to barge in like this. I… uhm… usually knock, but I…”

Felicity couldn’t find the words. Her brain and her jaw joints seemed to be malfunctioning as she struggled to close both her gawking eyes and her gaping mouth. She would have turned around or closed her eyes as propriety demanded, especially now that he was facing her and the frontal view of his masculine form was on full display. She didn’t know how much longer it would take before she melted into a puddle right before his eyes.

When Oliver began to approach her, her eyes slammed shut and she bit her lower lip, not wanting to witness whatever was about to happen. Nothing did. 

After a few seconds, he spoke, “Here,” and she decided to open her eyes. Apparently, he had picked up the hairbrush that she had dropped, together with the shawl that she didn’t realize she had also dropped, and was now offering them to her politely.

She took them from his hands and said, “Thank you.” 

She was thankful that he had picked up her things, but she was also thankful that he was standing so close to her that she didn’t have to be distracted by anything else below his massive chest. Except, his intensely entrancing eyes were locked onto hers again, and they were just as distracting as everything else that had taken her by surprise just moments ago. 

Felicity sighed. It seemed her plans of getting through another night peacefully in the same room with this man was going to be more complicated than she thought it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't write another chapter without an Olicity interaction, and this was what happened. Thoughts?
> 
> 1\. I tried to imagine Oliver with really long hair - not the kind he wore in the show that many fic writers called serial killer hair (Haha!), but something like Chris Hemsworth's as Thor, only longer (and often braided) and with a darker shade of blonde. Try to imagine it, and tell me you don't think it would look gorgeous on him. Ha!
> 
> 2\. Among indigenous groups in the mountains of northern Philippines, the loincloth or g-string is more commonly known as the "bahag." It is made of hand-loomed piece of cloth that is wrapped around a man's middle, covering his private parts. The bahag is usually a brightly colored red and black fabric, which is why the Filipino word for rainbow is "bahag-hari" (literally, a king's loincloth). The design of the weave is usually unique to the tribe of the person wearing the bahag.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity ponders on the man she's recently been married to, she and Oliver get ready to leave town, and a new character is introduced in the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not posting an update last night. I came home from work dead tired and went to bed earlier than usual. But here's the next update, which is longer than any of the previous chapters. Tried to edit the draft to fit the word limit I've set for myself, but cutting it any more than I already have will already affect the story, so I left it at 1,840 words. I didn't think you'd mind. ;-)

Despite the awkwardness and her apprehensions the previous night, Felicity had slept like a log, undisturbed by dreams good or bad. So, when the first rays of sunshine shone through the narrow gap between the two capiz shell ornamented window panels, she had second thoughts about rising up early to help Lyla and the inn’s cook with breakfast. However, the thought of all the kindness that Ms. Michaels had shown them the day before had quickly won her over.

Getting up from her bed, she noticed that Oliver was no longer asleep on the mat on the floor. He and his meager belongings were nowhere in their room.

Oliver. The man remained a mystery, and Felicity hated unsolved mysteries. As she changed into the riding habit attire that Lyla gave, ready for the half-day’s trek up into the mountains after their morning meal, she made a mental list of everything that she knew about her husband so far. 

At the top of her invisible list was that at the young age of ten, Oliver had lost his father in an encounter with native warriors, much like she had lost her father just a few days ago. That important piece of information had bonded them in a special way, making her feel a little more at ease with him, knowing that he can identify and sympathize with the pain she was going through. 

The next fact she listed was that Oliver had been adopted and raised as the Kinanyao chief’s own son – earning him a respectable status in Kinanyao society – even if he was the son of a foreigner, who had brought him and his mother to the island when he was a boy. Another thing she noted was that, for some reason still unclear to her, Oliver had been living alone in the jungle instead of with his adoptive native family in the mountain village of his tribal clan. It seemed to her that Oliver did not really have any friend in his life at the moment, except for Big John.

Felicity also added the following to her list: that Oliver was not afraid of snakes, that he was good with a bow and arrow, that he knew how to find food from the jungle and that she would not starve there for as long as she stayed with him, that he lived in a tree house, that he needs to recover as much of his past English as he possibly can and learn more of his original language with her help, and that he was a fast learner.

That he had saved her life twice – the first of which resulted in her becoming his wife.

That he had been patient with her even when she was being talkative and stubborn.

That he had been nothing but kind and thoughtful to her ever since they met.

That his voice – despite his very few words – possessed a peculiar yet endearing quality that calmed and soothed her, like it did last night when they had ended up conversing quite substantially (compared to their previous talks) about how Oliver had met John Diggle and about how John and Lyla had shown them kindness beyond expectation. Instead of allowing the awkwardness in the air to make them both uncomfortable, they had settled into a cordial conversation, which had finally lulled them both to sleep.

That he had the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen on a very fine male specimen. With a robust frame – a torso as solid and steadfast as a tree trunk, strong limbs that resemble the sturdy branches bearing the weight of his treehouse – and an unconventional tribal-looking, albeit handsome face that caused butterflies to flutter in her stomach whenever it is adorned even by the slightest, shy smile. She also visualized the tattoos on his body and his long, sandy blonde hair that he had let loose for the first time in her presence last night, and she decided that those external trappings did not matter as much to her as his inner person.

Felicity earnestly hoped that he would not change, for she liked the Oliver that she was coming to know. Although he tended to be quiet, introverted, and somber, she had already caught a few glimpses of his softer and lighter side, enough for her to surmise that the man who had given up his freedom to make her his wife was a good and honorable man. She had yet to see him get angry, frustrated, or upset, and she knew that she was bound to discover more. She’d be lying if she denied the fears in her heart, fears about what was in store when she got to know her husband even more and discovered the truth about his past. But for now, she learned to appreciate the man for the sacrifices he’d done for her thus far.

Felicity went downstairs and found Lyla in the kitchen. Lyla was busy packing food and water into a basket. Oliver was not there. Neither was John.

“Good morning!” Felicity greeted Lyla cheerfully.

“Good morning, Felicity. Did you sleep well?” asked Lyla.

“As a matter of fact, I did, thank you.” Felicity grinned widely as she spoke. 

“Oh, really?” Lyla had a gleaming, teasing expression on her face.

Felicity’s smile fell when she noticed the glint in her hostess’s eyes and assumed what she thought Lyla assumed.

“I… I did sleep very well. The beds in your inn are really comfortable, and the sheets smelled fresh, and I haven’t had a good night’s rest since, you know, the incident in the mountains and the near-death experiences I’ve had in the last couple of days. The nice, warm bath also helped me to relax before going to bed last night. So, uhm… I am babbling again, and it will end in 3-2-1.” She sighed, burying her face into the palms of her hands.

Lyla chuckled, amused at her habit of rambling when she was nervous or embarrassed. “Felicity, you owe me no explanation. I’m just happy that you slept well.”

“Thank you, Ms. Michaels,” Felicity said, biting her lip after.

Lyla immediately responded, “Oh, my dear, how many times do I have to tell you to please call me Lyla. I’m your friend, not your tutor or your employer.”

“Lyla, right. I keep forgetting.” 

It was at that point that John Diggle arrived and greeted the two women a pleasant morning. Felicity immediately noticed the hidden conversation taking place between John and Lyla just by the looks in their heart eyes and the sugar-sweet smiles they gave each other. Felicity meant to ask Oliver later whether or not there was something more than friendship between those two. 

“Big John, have you seen Oliver?” Felicity asked the big, burly man.

“Oliver?” John’s forehead crinkled in confusion.

“Oliver, yes.” When realization hit Felicity, she rephrased her question. “Oh, I meant Asintado, my hus-- Have you seen him?”

“You mean your husband?” John asked, to clarify that they were referring to the same person.

“Yes. Him.” Felicity replied succinctly, blushing a bit. She really needed to get used to being married.

John smiled. “I see he’s finally told someone his real name. Oliver is a nice name.”

“You mean you never knew that his name is Oliver? I thought you were friends,” Felicity asked, surprised.

“We are. But I’ve only ever known him as Asintado. He has never used his English name before,” John answered. “I figured it was something he kept to himself for a reason. I’m glad he has found someone worthy to share it with.”

Truth be told, Felicity couldn’t help but feel special and flattered by what John just revealed. Apparently, Oliver had told no one, about his real name, not even his only friend. Nevertheless, he had told her from the first time they met. It felt wonderful that he had thought her worthy of his trust. 

Felicity was also curious. Why didn’t Oliver tell anyone his real name before? Had he not told the chief who he was? Why hadn’t he told John, and why had he told her? She really wanted to know, but she knew she probably hadn’t earned that much trust yet for him to divulge the answers to such personal questions. She would wait for the right time.

“Asintado is bringing the old horse out of the stable. He’s been busy since dawn, packing all your supplies and strapping those onto the horse. He asked me to find out if you’re already awake and ready to go, and if Lyla was done packing your meals,” John explained. “Asintado wants for you to leave early so that you can reach your mountain home before nightfall. The journey going up there takes longer than it does coming down here.”

John went with Felicity to fetch her belongings upstairs. Afterwards, he and Lyla accompanied Felicity to the front porch of the general store. Sure enough, Oliver was there to meet them.

When Oliver saw her, he gaped in admiration at her features. Felicity had worn the riding habit ensemble given by Lyla – the traditionally form-fitting, long-sleeved bodice and the riding trousers (which was usually worn by women underneath a walking skirt or riding skirt). She had decided not to put on the skirt on top of the trousers anymore; she already knew from experience that it would only slow her down on the journey. The unconventionally worn attire made his new wife look even more appealing, as far as Oliver was concerned.

“Ready?” Oliver asked her, trying in vain to conceal a smile.

Felicity nodded and smiled as she came down the steps with John and Lyla.

“Thank you for everything, Big John. You and Lyla are very kind,” Oliver said, and Felicity was mighty proud of him for clearly communicating his gratitude to their friends in straight English.

Lyla gave Felicity a hug, while Oliver responded to John’s extended arm with a firm handshake.

Just as they were ready to leave, an unfamiliar voice called out from behind them. “Mr. Diggle, I’ve been looking all over town for you.”

John looked up and saw his employer, ready to provide an explanation for his temporary absence from the tobacco store. “Mr. Merlyn, I was just sending off my friends. I will be with you in the store shortly. Please forgive me if my absence made you anxious or upset.”

The man whom John addressed as Mr. Merlyn wasn’t even looking at his hired hand; instead, he was staring straight at Oliver and Felicity with a stern, disapproving and disconcerting look on his face.

Felicity wondered who the affluent man riding a huge black stallion was. She’d never seen him before, but the man was staring at her disturbingly as if he knew her. Oliver, on the other hand, was puzzled. He had never met Big John’s master in his three years of visiting Christentown, yet somehow he felt that he had seen this man before. He just couldn’t remember when and where.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think of the developments in the story? Would love to hear from you.
> 
> 1\. I looked up women's clothes in the late 19th century, and found exactly what I was hoping I could use for Felicity in this chapter - the riding habit ensemble. It consists of a blouse with a form-fitting bodice with long sleeves and a high collar, a skirt with darts at the knees and is longer on the left side and front to hide the feet while riding a horse (when walking, the extra length of the skirt is draped around the right hip and fastened at the center back waist with a button and ribbon loop), a silk knit undervest worn underneath the blouse, and a pair of feminine trousers worn underneath the skirt instead of a petticoat.
> 
> 2\. I love the style of some window panels back in the Spanish colonial era that were decorated with capiz shells in geometric shapes, usually squares that are arranged like tiles on a wooden frame. I tried to imagine the inn on top of Lyla's general store as having this classic ornamentation.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way back up the mountains, Felicity and Oliver have another conversation about Mr. Merlyn, among other more interesting and more engaging things.

“Is something the matter, Oliver? You’ve been far too quiet since we left Christentown. I mean, you already are quiet most of the time, but this is an entirely new level of quiet. Would you like to… maybe… talk about it?” Felicity asked. 

Ever since the brief encounter with Mr. Malcolm Merlyn, the man whom Big John had introduced to them as his employer, she had noticed that Oliver had become sullen. He’d been smiling when he had asked her if she was ready to go, and she had thought that the smile on his newly, cleanshaven face had made him look more charming with his long, braided sandy blonde hair. Mr. Merlyn’s stern demeanor had piqued her curiosity and affected her too, but she’d been wondering why Oliver reacted in a way that made him lose the initial cheerfulness earlier in the day.

Oliver just shook his head.

Felicity, being Felicity, didn’t take that social cue quite seriously. She barreled on with another question, thinking that if she and her new husband were going to make any progress in the getting-to-know-you stage of their relationship, she’d have to master the art of getting him to communicate.

“Are you sure? I am a really loquacious person, but I can also be a good listener.”

“Lo-qua-cious?”

“Yes, loquacious, as in garrulous or verbose or effusive.”

When Oliver responded with only narrowed eyes and a wrinkled forehead, it dawned on her that she wasn’t really making it easier for him to understand what she meant. So, she clarified slowly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. What I wanted to say was that I talk a whole lot. And you probably know that by now. But if you want to talk about what has been bothering you since we left town, I’m willing to keep my mouth shut and listen to what you have to say.”

Felicity realized that taking the time to talk more slowly was so much better than her signature babbling, because after a few seconds of silence between them, Oliver began to speak as they walked across a grassy lea approaching the Kipot River.

“Mr. Merlyn… I think… I knew him. But I can’t… I can’t remember,” he said, one phrase at a time. He looked straight ahead while walking, but it seemed like he was looking at nothing in particular. Instead, it was more like he was focused on retrieving memories in his mind. 

Felicity felt sad for Oliver. If she could just figure out how to help him recover the pieces of his  
past so that he can put together a better picture of who he was and where he had come from, she would. 

“Give yourself time. You’ve lived among the Kinanyao for a very long time. I’m sure, memories of your past life will come back to you eventually,” she encouraged him. She smiled as she put her hand on his arm – a gesture that made Oliver halt instantly and turn to her from his musing.

His smile, albeit small and seemingly insignificant, returned. 

She smiled back at him and said, “You know, it might help for you to know that meeting Mr. Merlyn felt strange for me as well. I’ve only met him for the first time, but he looked at me like he hated me already.”

They kept walking until they reached the river bank. Oliver decided that they should stop to rest and eat what Lyla had packed for them. They sat in companionable silence as they ate pan de sal with white cheese made from carabao milk and some slices of ripe papaya. But as they rested and let their stomachs settle, Felicity decided that they had time for a short language lesson.

“What would you like to learn today?” she asked him.

Oliver leaned against a big rock, his bare back having found a spot that was not too hot to scorch his skin. One of his legs was bent, keeping him grounded in place, while the other was stretched out in front of him. As he looked up at the sky, he pointed to it and said, “Nice.”

“Yes, the sky is nice today, isn’t it?” she cheerfully agreed.

“Sky.”

“Right! That’s the sky, up above us. And those feather-like, cotton-like things that seem to float in the sky? Those are clouds.”

“Clouds.”

Felicity smiled. She was sitting on the grass in front of him, the river behind her. They were quite close to each other, her knees almost touching the shin of his leg that was stretched out in front of him. 

“Uh-hmm. Sky and clouds. The clouds are white, like… like…” She looked around, trying to find an example from their surroundings. She couldn’t find any.

After some time, Oliver’s eyes widened in excitement. He enthusiastically straightened up and grabbed both of her hands, turning them palms up. He brushed the pads of his thumbs across her palms and said, “Like Felicity. Clouds are white… like your…”

“Skin.” Felicity finished his sentence with a single word. She couldn’t say more even if she wanted to, because what he was doing with her hands was doing wonders with her heart. Wonders she couldn’t really find words to describe. 

More than the callouses on his fingers, she felt his warmth, his sincerity, his gentleness. For a split-second she considered pulling away from his grasp, but she reconsidered when she looked up and saw the look of adoration in his eyes. Her breath hitched as her heart fluttered in her chest. No one had ever looked at her like that.

Felicity cleared her throat to distract Oliver somehow, but she only succeeded in distracting herself.

“Uhm… Yes, clouds are white like my skin. I think your skin would be just as white if you haven’t been exposed to the sun so much for so many years. I mean, I’m pretty sure that in the beginning the sunburn and the tan must have hurt, but I guess you’re used to it by now, seeing it doesn’t seem to bother you,” she rambled, trying to avoid looking straight into his piercing gaze. Her eyes were all over the place, specifically the portions of his body that she was referring to as tanned. That really didn’t help her focus, not when she was looking at his broad shoulders, muscular arms, firm pectorals and abdomen.

So, she tried looking up, steering the subject of their conversation back to the sky above. “The sky… Skies are blue, blue like the ocean or the sea, like the--”

“Like your eyes,” Oliver interrupted her sweetly. Felicity usually thought that such interruptions were rude, but this time she was willing to make an exception. She lowered her gaze just in time to hear him say, “Blue. Your blue eyes are nice.”

How dare he say such things! Didn’t he know that a woman can only take so much? And he has hardly said anything. Even the most cliched of adjectives was enough to take her breath away, especially since he hadn’t let go of her hands just yet. She was lost in the wonder of his gaze.

Without much thought, Felicity responded softly, “Just like yours.”

It took another second before she realized what she’d just uttered. When she did, she pulled away – both from his gaze and from his grasp. “Blue! I meant that your eyes are blue, too. Just like mine. And the sky. Not to say that your eyes aren’t nice. Because they are! Really nice. To look at.” 

She closed her eyes and sighed. This was supposed to be a simple language lesson – a lesson on nature and colors that led to her humiliating discomfiture.

That thought brought her back to her senses. “As I was saying, clouds are white. Skies are blue like the sea. The grass here is green, just like the leaves of most plants and trees.” She plucked a blade of grass and handed it to him. “Green. Grass is green.” And then she stood up, dusted off her trousers on the front and rear.

“We should go,” Oliver said, to her relief. They really should get going. Before he drives her insane.

He got up and helped her pack away their things, loading them back onto their beast of burden. The old horse was holding up his end of the bargain just nicely.

Felicity stroked the horse’s mane, whispering appreciative words to the animal. “Oliver, I think we should give him a name. We can’t just call out, “Hey, horse.”

Oliver nodded.

“I was thinking, maybe we could name him Starling? That way I’d always be reminded of home,” she told him wistfully. “That is, if you like it?”

Home. Of course, she still didn’t consider the island her home. Try as he might, Oliver could not force her to feel like she belonged instantly, not after the tragic loss of her father in the hands of natives – natives whom she had come here to serve. It was just like she said about the memories he was trying to recall; he needed to give her time. He needed to show her that there was more than one good reason, other than having married him by force of necessity, for her to love the land that he had come to call his home. He was trying to remember his past; she was trying to forget her pain. It would take some time before she embraces her present life and what the future had in  
store.

But there was something else about what she proposed that caught his attention. “Starling,” he whispered. The syllables were familiar on his tongue. And when the name rolled out of his lips, snapshots of the past flashed across his mind. 

A building with pillars and steps on the façade, bearing the name Starling City Bank and Trust. A church with a steeple. A schoolhouse with a red-white-and-blue flag raised on a pole. A big house with seven gables. A woman with blonde hair like his, knitting on a rocking chair on the porch. His mother. Moira. Home.

“Oliver?” Felicity’s voice snaps him out of his recollections.

“Huh?”

“Can we name the horse Starling?”

“Yes, Starling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for skipping two days. Social obligations and coming home tired from a long day's work kept me away from posting. But I hope you still liked this update. Well, did you?
> 
> 1\. Pan de sal (literally, bread of salt) is a staple among Filipinos. It's bread that's slightly bigger than dinner rolls and slightly smaller than a burger bun, and it's dusted with bread crumbs all over. Locals like to eat it with butter or margarine or any kind of spread, but it can also be eaten by itself or dunked in coffee or hot chocolate. Traditionally, it was baked in a fireplace-like oven called a "pugon," but today it is more commonly baked in modern ovens for commercial purposes.
> 
> 2\. The inspiration for the Queens' ancestral home in an imaginary 19th c. Starling City is the house in Hawthorne's classic "The House with the Seven Gables" (which I never got to finish for my 6th grade book report, because...). Hehe...
> 
> 3\. And yes, this is the chapter where the story gets its title. I hope you are able to see that "Blue Eyes" is more than just about the physical admiration they have for each other. The physical similarity between them leads them to discover other similarities that they have, which will hopefully unlock the secrets to their identities and life's purpose.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected guest with an expected news disturbs an otherwise quiet night. Oliver deals with issues regarding his new wife.

They arrived before sunset, with just enough time for Oliver to gather food and get fresh water to drink from the spring. Felicity busied herself with unloading their supplies. By the time Oliver got back, he carried everything up to the treehouse one batch at a time, just as she had sorted them. Though she was certain she could help out, she wisely decided that carrying them while climbing a rope ladder wasn’t such a good idea. She imagined herself falling headlong to the ground, resulting to her untimely demise; the idea that she had survived an attack by tribal warriors, death by burning and then by a venomous snake just to fall off a rope ladder by accident did not sit well with her.

At dusk, Oliver started a fire down below and called her to eat with him. He boiled some _kamote_ and prepared the fresh herbs he had gathered to make something that Felicity thought resembled a kind of salad, using the fermented cane vinegar and some sugar. Felicity wasn’t very fond of salads and vegetables since her childhood, but with the way that Oliver had prepared what he called _pansit-pansitan_, not only was she able to eat it, she also asked him to make it again in the coming days.

Just as they were ready to go up to the treehouse and retire for the night after a long day’s journey, they were disagreeably greeted by an unexpected visitor.

“Asintado.”

“Wandatu.”

Felicity turned around upon hearing Oliver utter a name that she vaguely recalled from her unpleasant experience at the Kinanyao village gate.

“I come to see you at Father’s request,” Wandatu spoke in fluent Kinanyao. Wandatu shifted his gaze from his half-brother to the blonde woman that he had married by privileged claim. It was a good thing that the shadows cast by the faint glow from the embers of the fire were partially concealing the loathsome look in the fierce warrior’s eyes; otherwise, it would have sent a cold chill down Felicity’s spine. 

“I see your new wife is adjusting well to life in the jungle,” Wandatu sneered at the pair. “Are those your trousers she’s wearing, brother? Why don’t you let her try what our women wear? I think you will be more pleased,” he scoffed at them.

Oliver did not let his mockery continue. He stepped in front of Felicity, partly shielding her from Wandatu’s scornful stare. He spoke firmly in Kinanyao, “Hold your tongue, brother. Tell me Father’s message, and then go. I will not have you mocking my wife.”

Wandatu directed his ire at brother. “Protective, aren’t you, Asintado? I’m sure when you get to know the woman more, you’ll find that she is just as treacherous and vile as every other foreigner our tribe has ever known.”

“Does that insult include me? White man’s blood runs through my veins, but I am also your brother by right. We have saved each other’s lives in battle more than once. Do not throw all that away because of hatred. My wife and I had nothing to do with the plague that took the lives of your wife and unborn child.” Oliver reasoned with Wandatu despite his growing displeasure of his brother’s presence.

“I did not come to argue, nor do I have to justify why my hatred for the white race burns,” Wandatu responded austerely. “Father wanted me to remind you that he expects you to be back at the village the day before the full moon. The _fale_ that you and your bride will be living in is being prepared.” 

From the tone of his voice, Oliver could sense that his brother was every bit as disdainful at the thought of him bringing his wife to live with him in the village again. 

Wandatu spoke further in derision, “I must say, I am relieved that your house shall be far from mine. I don’t think I can forebear a daily reminder of the mockery you have made of the memory of my beloved Mempe when you chose that woman’s life over the family and tribe that raised you.”

Raised me? How dare his half-brother accuse him of ingratitude? Oliver thought it rather odd and ridiculous that his brother’s perspective of his life was so partial as to blind him from the fact that theirs was the same family and tribe that orphaned him fifteen years ago. Oliver did not hate the Kinanyao, especially his father the Chief. But the more he interacted with foreigners, and ever since he met Felicity, an affinity for his race of origin had begun to grow within him. 

Irked by Wandatu’s insults and accusation, Oliver replied, “Tell our father, the noble Chief Muidatu, that I have received his message. Tell him that we will be in the village before full moon. Now go, before my anger burns against you and I forget that we are brothers.”

Wandatu walked away, departing without so much as a customary farewell.

* * *

“Who was that?” Felicity asked Oliver. Something about his conversation with the Kinanyao warrior had obviously affected him.

“Wandatu, my brother,” Oliver replied solemnly.

“Brother?” Felicity was puzzled.

“Wandatu is son of Chief Muidatu by blood.”

“Oh.”

“What did he want? And why did he seem so angry?” she asked curiously.

Her question reminded him about his father’s message. The house in the village. He realized he had not yet told Felicity about it, and he heaved a sigh.  
“It’s not good, is it?” Felicity meant to ask, but her words came out as an anxious statement.

Oliver’s mind recalled the last thing his father had told him after he and the priestess had hastily performed the wedding ceremony three days ago. Felicity had been too preoccupied with figuring out what had just happened to notice the brief exchange between him and his father.

“My son,” Chief Muidatu had said, “it would please me, as your father and as Chief, if you would come back and live among us in the village now that you have been reinstated as a warrior and the chief’s favored son. The elders of our clan will expect it, and so will the leaders of the other clans. Your presence in the village strengthens your claim to the right to become Chief one day.” Chief Muidatu had paused and smiled, and then added, “Settling in a more permanent dwelling is better for when your wife starts to bear your offspring. A treehouse in the jungle is no place to raise children, and I can foresee that the gods will favor you with many.”

Oliver suddenly felt conflicted. It wasn’t just about leaving the solitude of the treehouse that had been his home for more than three years and coming to live with the Kinanyao once again. His mind focused on one and only one thing at the moment – children. Everyone in the clan – not just his father – will expect at least one son, an heir that will carry on Chief Muidatu’s family line and right to rule.

Thoughts of having children swirled in his mind as he stood frozen on the spot. How on earth was he supposed to have children when he and Felicity have not even had intimate relations with each other? He certainly thought more honorably of her than to pressure her into having one, just for the sake of proving his virility and producing an offspring. While some of the men of the tribe were known to do so, there was no question in his mind: he was not going to do that to her. He resolved that he was patiently going to wait for his wife to be ready, to be willing.

But for how long was he going to wait? As is the custom among the Kinanyao, a man’s bride had but two harvests to conceive, and then the husband was bound by tradition and allowed by tribal law to find himself a second wife with whom to produce offspring. The husband is obliged to continue to support the barren wife, and he most certainly can continue having sexual relations with her, but she loses the exclusive right to be chosen as the favored wife, whose son eventually becomes the rightful heir of her husband. 

What if Felicity didn’t conceive by second harvest simply because he hadn’t been able to win her heart? What if she never became ready and willing to give him of herself, body and soul? Oliver felt his chest constrict and his heart wrench inside him at the thought. Perhaps he had been wrong to choose her spontaneously to be his wife just to save her life from the flames. But no. The thought of her dying had become excruciatingly painful and vehemently disagreeable to him now as he reconsidered. He had only spent three days with this amazing woman, but it felt to him like they had a deeply spiritual connection, a bond that held the key to unlock the secrets of the past and their life’s purpose.

“Wandatu brings news,” Oliver finally spoke in answer to Felicity’s query. “My father, Noble Chief Muidatu, has a house ready. For us. In the village.”  
Felicity was confused. A house in the village felt more like good news than bad. It seemed safer than having to live in the jungle. But why had Oliver’s half-brother been so angry over such news? And why did Oliver seem to be troubled by it?

“Live in the village? What about the treehouse?” she asked in puzzlement.

He hesitated before giving an answer. “We leave the treehouse before full moon. It will not hold when the rains come. It’s not safe. For us. For you.” 

That reason was not exactly a lie.

Oliver had built and rebuilt his treehouse in the jungle year after year. He was a skilled builder, using only the best materials available in the immediate environment – wood, bamboo, dried _cogon_ and _anahaw_ leaves, and ropes made from natural fibers like _abaca_. His uncle, the Chief’s younger brother, had taught him well, and when he had met Big John Diggle, he had learned a few new building techniques using a saw, a hammer, and some nails. But when the rainy season came each year, tropical typhoons would demolish his temporary shelter, and he had to take refuge in a nearby cave for months until the season of storms and monsoon rains passed. 

In a few weeks’ time, the rains would come. That was reason enough for him and his wife to dwell in the village where there would be ample food supply, as well as the support of a community when they begin to raise a family.

Oliver withheld from Felicity the other side of the matter, but he would tell her in time, when a better opportunity presented itself. He only hoped that by then, she would have changed her mind about being his wife. In the meantime, he was determined to woo her in the ways he knew. He would bide time to find the English words to explain to her the two things he had realized in such a short span of time.

First, he believed Felicity held the master key that unlocked his broken heart, the secrets of his identity, and the hope of fulfilling his destiny. 

Second, Felicity had come to mean more to him than just a woman to have children with, although he wanted her that way, too. He would do anything to protect his wife from harm, be it a physical threat or something caused by the unreasonable norms of society. 

Oliver only hoped that when the time came, she’d understand and accept both. He longed for the time when she would feel about him the same way he now felt about her. Only, he wished it would happen soon, because every sundown, he found that he loved her more than he did the day before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts about the story arcs and plot line so far? I hope you don't mind the culture and history lessons. :-)
> 
> 1\. "Fale" is the term for the single-room house of the Ifugao, an indigenous tribe found in the mountains of Northern Luzon, the Philippines. At first glance, the architectural design seems to resemble the traditional nipa hut or bahay kubo that is iconic of Filipino rural culture in the lowlands. However, the fale is different. The sturdy structure crafted using timber from amugawan trees is built on four posts, which are buried about 50cm below the ground and hedged in with stones. The wooden sides of the house slant outward and rise up to the waist, this forms the lower half of the wall. The upper half of the wall is formed by the inner side of the roof. The main "house cage" has no windows. The architecture creates a dark chamber, which suggests a womb. The pyramid-shaped roof that rests on the house cage is covered with thick layers of thatch made of dried grass, which insulates the house from the heat of the sun and from the torrential rains. The Ifugao fale were traditionally situated in perfect harmony with the contours of rice terraces that the people carved out of mountainsides.
> 
> 2\. Definitions of other terms:   
kamote = sweet potato   
pansit-pansitan = a kind of herb with shallow roots, succulent stems, and tiny heartshaped leaves; it is edible when raw or cooked; it also has medicinal value (English: pepper elder)   
anahaw = a kind of round-leafed fountain palm commonly found in Southeast Asia   
cogon = a species of grass used for thatching roofs of traditional houses in Southeast Asia
> 
> 3\. Chief Muidatu's advice to Oliver - that raising a family would be better if they lived in the village than in an isolated treehouse in the jungle - and Oliver's position that this arrangement would ensure ample food supply and the support of the community when raising children, are inspired by an African proverb: "It takes a village to raise a child."
> 
> 4\. In the past, it was common practice among indigenous tribes of Northern Luzon to take another wife if the first wife seems barren. (If you are interested in learning more about this tribal custom, you may want to read the famous short story "Wedding Dance" by Filipino writer Amador Daguio. In that story, the husband and wife love each other so much, but they end up succumbing to culture and tribal law. It's heartbreaking. That is the story that inspired this particular arc that I am taking Olicity on in this fic.) Personally, I find this practice quite unfair. When a married couple can't get pregnant, it doesn't have to be the fault of the wife. Why assume that she is the one who has the biological problem? Isn't it possible that it is the husband that is impotent? Just thoughts...


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a spontaneous bedtime language lesson, this time taught by Oliver, which leads to more memories and revelations, and a somewhat intimate moment nonetheless...

Felicity couldn’t sleep. Her mind was preoccupied with the unexpected visit of Oliver’s half-brother earlier that night. She couldn’t help but wonder why someone she had never done ill against hated her so much. The man’s demeanor had certainly made her feel it, not just then, but also a few days ago when he had demanded her life as wages for the life of another Kinanyao warrior that had perished during the attack on her traveling party.

Felicity turned and asked softly, “Oliver, are you still awake?” She lay on her side, wondering per chance if he was still willing to converse. She’d learned to like their nighttime bonding moments.

There was no answer for almost half a minute. Then, her husband stirred and turned to face her. “Yes.”

“Why was Wudu… Wandu…” She exhaled in slight exasperation. She had not quite gotten the name of her apparent brother-in-law right. 

“Wandatu,” he corrected her.

She tried to ask again. “Why was Wandatu angry? He seemed really angry. At me, in particular.”

“_Naka-unget._”

“What was that?”

“_Naka-unget._ It means angry in Kinanyao.”

“Oh,” she replied in understanding. “So, why was your brother _na-ka-u-nget_? Did I say that right?”

Oliver nodded, and then he answered slowly, carefully figuring out the words to use. “Wandatu does not like white people. He blames them for Great Plague years ago. So many of Kinanyao died.”

“Oh… That is… That is so sad.” 

He nodded once more. “_Liday,_” he said.

“You agree with me?”

“No. You said ‘sad.’ _Liday_ means sad,” he explained tersely. “I agree. It was… very sad.”

She practiced the two words she’d just learned repeatedly, whispering softly. Oliver observed her attentively, the corners of his lips turning up for a shy smile as he appreciated the way her lips moved to rehearse words in his acquired language. He was grateful for the moonlight coming through the open window of the tree-house that allowed him to see her comely face.

After she was confident that she had committed _nakaunget_ and _liday_ to memory, Felicity thought about how to phrase her next question. It seemed like Oliver was just as willing to satisfy her curiosity as he was enthusiastic about giving her a spontaneous Kinanyao language lesson, but she didn’t want to overstep her boundaries.

She asked carefully, “Was it true? Was the plague really caused by foreigners?”

“I do not know. No one really knows,” he replied. “I think… it was more easy for Kinanyao to blame white man… than to find out what really happened.”

“That is even sadder,” she responded. “My father did mention the plague as one of the reasons why he had wanted to come here – to provide medical help, to cure sick people, to keep the plague from happening again. Back in Starling, Father had heard about what happened from a patient of his, a retired governor-general of Kinanyaoan Island, but the man did not really give details about the plague.”

Starling. There was that name again. Earlier that day, it had conjured up memories of his childhood. Of his hometown. Of his mother. He had remembered that his mother’s name was Moira. 

However, there was a tiny bit of information from what she had just shared that caught his attention yet again. It wasn’t a name, but it stirred up his memory once more.

“Governor-general…” He tried to articulate the word softly without really meaning to say the word out loud.

“Yes, my father’s patient had served as the governor-general of the colonial government here, before the one that’s serving presently. Unfortunately, I don’t recall his name.”

Governor-general. 

Oliver closed his eyes for a moment. He saw an old, worn-out naval uniform with the insignia of an admiral in a huge, oak wood wardrobe that he used to hide in whenever he’d done some mischief as a boy. He saw a framed, faded picture of a man dressed in that uniform on top of a vintage pianoforte that his mother used to play so well. He saw the same man formally dressed in full regalia, his hand on a thick black book, being sworn in as the new governor-general of the colonial government in the presence of many important people. He remembered the words uttered and the title conferred. He remembered the name. Of his father.

“Robert Queen.” He opened his eyes as the now-familiar name came out of his mouth. It felt as if the last fifteen years had not gone by. More memories of his parents and of his home came rushing back to the surface of his mind from where they had been tucked away for more than a decade with no one to help him pull them out.

Ignorant of what was going on in Oliver’s mind, Felicity remarked, “No, I don’t think that’s the name of the man in question. But who is Robert Queen, Oliver?”

“Robert Queen…” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Robert Queen was my father. He was also governor-general. That… that was why we came… to the island,” he answered, amazement so evident in his voice and on his face.

Felicity’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and her mouth gaped open in astonishment. “Oliver, you remembered! That’s wonderful! That makes you, Oliver Queen.”

She sat up in excitement at what was unfolding. Oliver followed suit. 

“I am Oliver Queen,” he articulated, much to his own enlightenment and persuasion. He still could hardly believe that he’s regained his identity just like that.

“Yes!” Felicity exclaimed, her voice laced with mirth. “Your name is Oliver Queen. That is who you are.” Joyful laughter escaped her lips as she clapped her hands together once and then covered her mouth with them.

Oliver could not find the words – English or Kinanyao – to describe how good and how liberating it felt to rediscover who he was. An important piece of the puzzle of his identity and origin had just been unraveled, and Felicity had helped him recover it. All along, the memories had been buried in the deepest recesses of his mind; he just needed someone significant enough to help him cull them out.

He proceeded to share with her the memories he had regained earlier that day when she had named their horse Starling. He told her a few things he remembered about his neighborhood, and she was quick to confirm that she’d also been to the bank he mentioned, to the church his family had attended, the schoolhouse he had gone to, and the park right in front of it where children usually played. Both were thrilled, exchanging memories of childhood in Starling City. He told her what he remembered about his home, and even what he remembered about his mother Moira. He was ecstatic about the fact that Felicity had grown up in the same place he had. They may not have met in Starling when they were little, but Oliver was convinced – now more than ever – that he and she had been destined to cross paths one way or another.

In their enthusiasm, they did not notice that they had eagerly shifted positions while talking, and were now sitting close to each other on the floor in the small space inside the tree-house. Felicity leaned in, touching Oliver’s knee. 

“You must be so happy, remembering things about your family. A lot of who we are is about who our parents were,” she said sincerely.

“_Naragsak._”

Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t sure she understood.

“I am happy. _Naragsak._ Happy,” he clarified.

Felicity smiled at him, her eyes glistening. She felt privileged that she had just witnessed something very personal to the man she was married to. She also felt amused and impressed that even in the midst of his reawakening and reminiscences, he still remembered that he was in the middle of teaching her some new words in Kinanyao.

“Well, that makes two of us. _Naragsak,_ I mean. I’m happy, too,” she responded. “Thank you for sharing your memories with me.”

“Thank you for helping me remember,” he said. 

His voice sounded lower than it was a moment ago, and Felicity noticed something different in the way he looked at her – something enthralling and overwhelming at the same time. She did not even notice that his hand was already reaching out to touch her face until it was already cradling her cheek. As if by impulse, she leaned into his touch, her eyes closed as she sighed calmly.

When she opened her eyes once more, Oliver was leaning closer to her, his face just a few inches from hers. Her breath hitched, but unlike previous similar instances when he and she had been this close, Felicity did not pull away. She leaned once again into the hand that cupped her cheek and angled her head so that she could kiss the pulse point on his wrist. When she did, his breath hitched. She saw his chest heave in surprise at her gesture, and then she flashed him a shy yet tender smile.

He removed his hand from her face and used it to tuck some stray strands of blonde hair behind her ear. Then, his hand moved to trace the outline of her neck, her shoulder, and her arm – sliding down until he reached her hand – the one that still rested on his knee. He squeezed it as he smiled. He picked it up, attempting to intertwine their fingers, and she obliged. 

Instantly, they both felt their connection, felt the warmth that spread from their linked hands to the rest of their bodies. Her smaller hand fit perfectly in his larger one like they truly belonged to each other. Felicity gazed at their joined hands as he lifted them and moved to bring her hand to his lips. One chaste kiss on her knuckles was sufficient to communicate how he felt about her, transcending the limitations of language or culture that still existed between them.

Oliver pulled back slightly, but she did not feel disappointed, because he did not let her hand go. Instead, he placed it on his chest, on top of his wildly beating heart. “_Ay-ayaten ka_,” he told her softly.

“Oliver, what is _ay-ayaten ka_?” Felicity asked, anticipating an answer.

Oliver smiled at her with a twinkle in his eyes, as he finally let go of her hand. “That… is lesson for another day. Now, we sleep,” he said slowly but firmly.  
She opened her mouth to object, but she could not utter a word of protest. She wanted to complain, to tell him how unfair it was for him to romance her like that and then just leave her hanging. Again, she tried to speak, but he told her, “I will say what it means, when I think you are ready to say it back.”

“But how can I say it back if I don’t--” 

Oliver held back his laughter, pressed his forefinger against her lips, and cut her short. “Felicity, go to sleep,” he reiterated resolutely.

Felicity yielded. Dumbfounded at her own submission, she crawled back to her mat and lay down facing away from him. She couldn’t believe that her somber husband – who also happened to be a fierce tribal warrior – was also capable of jesting or pranking. She also couldn’t accept that he had just succeeded in making her obey him without her uttering another word. If her father were alive, she knew he would remark that perhaps she finally met her match. She was upset, but succumbed to sleep soon notwithstanding…

…with sweet dreams of her husband caressing her cheek and peppering her hand with kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think will happen next?
> 
> 1\. Filipinos are made up of several different people groups, so there are also multiple languages and dialects all over the islands. In Luzon alone, which is the biggest island, there are several major and minor language groups. Since I pictured this story taking place in the mountains of Northern Luzon, I had to pick a language that is spoken widely there or in the surrounding areas. For the language of the Kinanyao tribe (which is only a figment of my imagination and is not a real-life tribe anywhere), I picked the Ilocano language, the native tongue of my mother's clan (which I never learned to speak, by the way, so I still used the dictionary). Through the centuries, the Ilocanos have dispersed and settled in the different regions of northern, central, and western Luzon. Some people who live in the mountains also speak it.
> 
> 2\. During the Spanish colonial period in the Philippines (which was named after King Philip of Spain at the time of its "discovery" by Magellan), the highest government official was the Governor-General who was appointed to office by, and was directly accountable to, Spain. There were some effective and benevolent governor-generals from the 16th-19th centuries, but there were also some mean and oppressive ones.
> 
> 3\. Glossary (Ilocano to English):   
nakaunget/naka-unget = angry   
liday = sad   
naragsak = happy   
ay-ayaten ka = I love you


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly about musings... and things amusing. For both Felicity and Oliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update isn't as long as the ones before, but I think you'll still appreciate it. ;-)

By the time Felicity awakened, the sun was already up and she was alone in the tree-house again. Her husband was no doubt an early riser.

After fixing her sleeping mat and going about a few morning rituals, she decided to change into clothes appropriate for what she had in mind to do that day. She opened the _tampipi_ (which Oliver had given for her use the day he’d brought her home) where she had kept the new clothes and hand-me-downs from Lyla. She picked out a homestead dress that had a loose fit designed for doing work. She planned to do some serious work, promising herself that she’d refrain from asking for Oliver’s help in any way (unless, of course, there was an emergency like another snake or a wild beast coming at her; for that, she was willing to reconsider).

In spite of sweet dreams (that were mostly filled with images of her ruddy yet handsome husband being nice to her), Felicity still had woken up upset. When she opened her eyes to the morning light, she had immediately remembered what had transpired last night. Oliver had denied her a translation of something he had spoken to her in Kinanyao. The foreign words had seemed very important to him, and she had wanted to understand what they meant. His denial of her request had been truly and unpleasantly anti-climactic.

She felt that he had acted unfairly by leaving her hanging, especially at the height of what had felt like the most magical moment in her life so far. The experience had been almost just as thrilling as her first trip to the Starling City Library or the Central City Museum of Science and Technology, except it hadn’t been. It had been more, and it had been magical in a very different way. A very wonderful, intimate way.

She could still picture Oliver’s longing looks. She could still feel his tender touches on her skin as he caressed her cheek and slid his hand downward from her neck to her hand. She could still feel the rhythmic throbbing of his heart when he placed her hand on his chest. She could still hear his distinctly masculine yet gentle voice saying, _“Thank you for helping me remember,”_ and whispering, _“Ay-ayaten ka.”_

The reminiscences filled her heart with an extraordinary warmth and unconsciously put an affectionate smile on her face. They actually made her _naragsak._ Truth be told, she fancied him telling her that he liked her, or that he found her beautiful, or something along those lines. She wondered if that was what Oliver had meant, and she wished it were so (though outwardly she might deny it in her pride).

By the time she worked the last button on the bodice of her dress, she came to realize one thing – that she was actually developing feelings for this man that had suddenly become her husband, just a few days ago, in the most undesirable of predicaments that she never imagined herself getting caught in.

Was it possible that she was experiencing for the first time what love was, and what being romanced by a loving man truly felt like? Perhaps, it was. But what did she know about love other than that which her father and mother had always shown her? She certainly had not felt anything close to romance with any man, not even when she was courted by Dr. Ray Palmer with her mother’s prodding and permission, back in Starling City. But with Oliver last night, she had felt so comfortable, so… loved. Oliver hadn’t really done much to make her feel that way. All they had done was share a friendly conversation that had led to him remembering things about his identity, his family, and his past – which, in turn, had led to them sharing something she couldn’t really find the words to describe, but something that she truly wished they could share again.

When she put the rest of her clothes back into the _tampipi,_ she saw her wedding necklace. She picked it up and brushed her thumb across the smooth surface of the pearl that hung at the center. Seeing and touching the precious heirloom further reinforced the fact that she was married, and that Oliver was starting to mean more to her than just a spouse by tribal law, or even a friend. Unfortunately, it also reminded her that the same man had recently provoked in her some irksome feelings that she just couldn’t ignore. She placed the necklace on top of her clothes and closed the bamboo woven container, deciding that she would deal with her conflicted feelings later.

Felicity looked out the window of the tree-house and saw Oliver chopping wood with an ax down below. He was a hard-working man, her husband. He was caring and kind, but he hadn’t been willing to share a simple translation with her. How could they share more if he hadn’t been willing to share something as simple as that? Until he was willing to keep his end of the bargain – for they did agree to give each other language lessons – she was not willing to keep hers. Though she already had feelings for him, she wasn’t going to be as submissive as she had been last night. That had been a mistake that she was not going to make twice. She convinced herself that there was a perfectly reasonable excuse (no matter how petty) for bringing out her stubborn side again.

Felicity climbed down the rope ladder with soap and a clean towel folded neatly in a small _bayong_ that she held in one hand. Oliver greeted her ‘good morning,’ but she ignored him and withheld a courteous smile. She just nodded and then went her way.

Oliver was disappointed and confused about her sudden aloofness, for he thought that they had been making good progress in their relationship lately. Still, he chose not to call her attention just yet and to leave her be for the time being, thinking that maybe she had not gotten a good night’s sleep or had been missing her father again.

* * *

Felicity followed the path to the village where she remembered they had passed a stream before. She was hungry, but she didn’t want to ask Oliver for something to eat. She intended to find and gather some of those herbs that Oliver had prepared the day before, so that she could make herself a simple meal. She also thought that a nice, relaxing dip in the stream would refresh her on her way back.

It was mid-morning when she finished gathering enough herbs for herself. (She was certainly not in the mood to share.) The weather was hot and humid, so she followed through with her plan and took a side trip to the stream. The cool, clear waters that trickled and flowed down its rocky  
path was so inviting. She looked around to make sure that no one was around and then quickly undressed herself behind a thick bush near the shallow part of the stream. She wrapped the towel around herself and waded into the water. When she reached a spot that was safe to bathe in, she removed her towel and draped it on a nearby rock.

She enjoyed bathing, submerged in cool waters up to her neck, while basking under the warmth of the sun. From time to time, she would look around, making sure that she was still alone, and she was pleased each time that she was. For a while, she had forgotten about what had made her upset, as she hummed her favorite ballads and folk tunes.

Nevertheless, she had no idea that trouble was lurking in the dense woods afar off. Someone hidden behind the trees had begun to watch her when she was already in the water, and the stranger would have continued to do so until she got out of the water if he hadn’t been scared off by someone else. Someone more familiar and friendly.

* * *

Oliver had gone looking for her because it had taken her quite a while to return. He had been worried, thinking that she might have gotten lost in the jungle, or that she might have fallen prey to ferocious, wild animals. He had thought that, when he found her, passing by the stream to fish for food on their way back was a good idea.

As he approached the banks of the stream, he caught sight of a limb stretched upwards from behind a huge rock. The limb in question undeniably belonged to a female, judging from the size of the foot and the shape of the calf and thigh. His eyes widened as he gasped in pleasant admiration, attempting to no avail to steady his breath.

Everything about Felicity was beautiful, Oliver thought fondly. He had no doubt that the woman to whom such an attractive, smooth-skinned limb belonged was his wife, for there was no other white woman in these parts except her. The sound of her voice as she hummed a tune had confirmed his assumption, all the more deepening his appreciation of her many desirable qualities. He smiled at the realization that his beautiful wife could actually sing, for he, too, found music pleasant and soothing.

Nevertheless, his amusement was short-lived, for the woman behind the rock suddenly stood, revealing her bare back and slender, hour-glass form from the waist up. And for some strange reason, Oliver had felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t because he hadn’t seen more skin on females before; he had grown up seeing women in the tribe going around with less clothing every day and sometimes even walking around with nothing to cover their breasts especially when they were nursing their young. It wasn’t because he felt guilty that he was gazing maliciously at his wife. In all honesty, his unease came from the realization that him looking at her under such a circumstance would most assuredly make her feel ashamed if she had known that he was there watching her.

Oliver already knew that he loved her. He was sure of that. And by loving her, he meant more than mere physical attraction, though he had absolutely no qualms that she evoked that kind of response from him. He truly cared about her and her well-being. He wanted her happiness and desired that he could contribute to it in a significant way. He sought to spend the rest of his life with her, maybe even raise a family. Oliver loved her by choice, because he firmly believed that she was his redemption, his hope, and that she was a gift from either the gods his tribal people believed in or the God that his people of origin worshiped. From the moment his blue eyes had met hers, he had been persuaded that she was destined for him and he for her. It dawned on him that perhaps that was the real reason why he did not regret making that spontaneous decision to save her life that day by sacrificing his freedom and choosing her to be his wife.

So, Oliver bowed his head, turned around and walked away. For he understood that loving a woman also meant giving her the dignity and respect she is due.

Though he could still visualize Felicity’s comely form vividly in his mind, he comforted himself that someday… someday she would give all of herself to him and it would be perfect bliss, if he patiently wooed and waited. Fearsome warriors of their tribe would consider it unthinkable, even degrading, but not him. He loved her that much.

He ambled back towards the direction he had come from, with just the sound of Felicity’s voice fading in the background the farther away he went.

He would hunt, he told himself. They needed food for the rest of the day, and he thought hunting was the perfect distraction he needed at the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would be lovely to hear YOUR musings, and the things you found amusing with this one, if any.
> 
> 1\. A "tampipi" is a native box-like container made of woven strips of bamboo or other sturdy material from plants, the bottom part covered by the top part. Long before the Spaniards popularized the use of the suitcase or valise, Filipinos already used the tampipi to pack and carry clothes and personal belongings when going on a journey. You can look it up if you are interested in visualizing it.
> 
> 2\. The "bayong" is a bag that looks like a wicker basket that is made by weaving dry leaves or other organic material like rattan and abaca. It is open on top. Traditionally, people use it to carry various things like when going to the market to shop for food, etc.
> 
> 3\. A homestead dress was worn by women in America in the 1800s as a day dress, work dress, or camp dress. It was a very loose fitting dress that made it possible for ladies to move about and do work indoors and outdoors. It has long sleeves with ruffles near the wrists and usually had buttons down front. It was usually matched with an apron and a bonnet.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity try to sort out their issues but get interrupted.

At around noontime, Felicity returned with her small _bayong_ of cleanly washed herbs and went straight up to the tree-house where the ingredients she needed to prepare her “salad” were stored safely. 

“You are back,” Oliver said to her. Oliver was roasting the meat of a kind of fowl that she no longer recognized, but she just passed him by without a word. “Food is ready to eat.”

She was getting ready to climb the rope ladder, but she replied tersely, “Thank you, but I have food.”

“You have food?” he asked, looking surprised.

“Yes,” she replied confidently, without looking at him. “You’re not the only one who can find something to eat out here,” she muttered, hoping he didn’t hear. She secured the _bayong_ under one arm and began to climb.

“What food?” He somehow doubted her, but he didn’t want her to notice it.

Felicity sighed and put her foot back down to the ground. Grumbling, she brought him the basket of herbs. She put down the basket in front of him, folded her arms in front of her chest, and said, “I went looking for some herbs. I found them. I can make them the way I saw you make them yesterday.” She paused, and then she added, “And, I would appreciate it so much if you could just please leave me alone for the rest of the day. Thank you.”

She picked up the basket and was about to turn back to the rope ladder when Oliver told her, “Felicity, you can’t eat those herbs.”

“Why not?” 

“They are not _pansit-pansitan_.”

“Well, they may not be the same herbs you fed us yesterday, but they certainly look very similar. I’m sure that with the right amount of vinegar and some sugar, they’ll taste just as good,” she argued stubbornly, still avoiding his gaze.

“You can’t eat them,” he objected still, trying so hard to remain calm.

“Why?” she protested with a raised eyebrow, her arms akimbo.

“_Lason_.”

“What?!”

“If you eat them, you will die. _Lason,_” he explained the best way he could.

Felicity took a deep breath and bit her lip. She had gathered poisonous herbs for food. What was she thinking going off into the jungle all by herself in search of edible plants? Even if she did not want to, she just had to concede defeat. But she was going to do it without uttering a word.

Oliver took the herbs from the basket and threw them into the fire. He then stretched out his hand and invited her to come and sit with him to eat. She simply nodded and sat beside him, making sure to put a reasonable distance between them. She promised herself that if another argument or squabble were to take place, she wouldn’t let herself fall into his trap of pulling her close to himself again, like he did when she protested that he ripped the first layer off her woolen skirt. She wouldn’t let him pull down her defenses like that so easily.

Silently, they ate. When Oliver sensed that Felicity was done, he took a chance and asked her the question that had been bothering him all morning. “Felicity, is something wrong?”

“Hmm… Let’s see.” She tapped her forefinger against her lips. “Oh, yes! I. Am. Upset,” she retorted.

“What is upset?” he asked.

“Upset? Well, that… is a lesson for another day,” she replied sarcastically. 

Oliver was quiet for a while. He did remember using the same words on her last night when he evaded answering her question, and he realized what it was that he had done that made her seem angry with him. “Is upset like _naka-unget? _Is Felicity angry with Oliver?” he asked.

Felicity rolled her eyes upon hearing him refer to her and to himself in the third person. She was even more irritated that he seemed to have forgotten what she’d taught him about pronoun usage. “Yes! Felicity is angry with Oliver,” she answered, mimicking the way he had phrased his question.

“Please, don’t be angry. Oliver… I did not want to make you upset.” Oliver tried to appease her with a humble apology. He wished she would accept it, forgive him, and move on, but by the look on her face, he knew it would take him more than an apology to win her back. 

Felicity gave him the side-eye but did not speak.

Oliver was willing to try again. “Why are you upset with me?” he asked, his tone serious yet imploring. He wanted to make sure he understood her correctly.

“Do you really need to ask?” 

“Yes. I want to know.”

This time, Felicity gave him the benefit of the doubt. She turned and looked at him, gauging if he was sincere or not. She noticed the tension in his body language, but she also saw the earnestness and desperation in his eyes. He honestly wanted to know, and it looked like he also meant to make peace with her.

“Last night, after you… I asked you what you meant when you spoke in Kinanyao, but you avoided the answer. I just wanted to understand,” she explained. “I thought we had a deal. I will help you get your English back, but you also have to help me learn Kinanyao. So far, I haven’t refused to answer anything you’ve asked of me, but you have.”

Oliver took a deep breath. He appreciated her frankness. He hoped she would extend the same courtesy to him. After some thought, his response was, “I am sorry. I did not think you were ready.”

“Ready for what?” Felicity asked, feeling exasperated that she was getting answers in trickles.

_Ready to hear me tell you that I love you. To listen to the cry of my heart for you to love me back. For you to tell me that you feel the same way about me._ That was what he wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t. Not yet, at least. But she was obviously expecting an honest answer from him, and he couldn’t deny her that. Would he tell her now and risk rejection, or would he plead with her to wait for the right time? 

Oliver wasn’t aware that his pondering had taken up some time. Unfortunately, Felicity misinterpreted his silence to mean another refusal, and she wouldn’t stand for it. So, she stood up and moved to leave. 

He was going to go after her, but before she turned to walk away, he noticed movement in the foliage behind her, several meters away. He squinted to focus his vision on something peering out of the thick shrubbery, and the instant he figured out what the weapon he saw was, he shouted, “No!”

The shout startled Felicity, so she suddenly turned. A poison-tipped dart cut through the hot and humid air, missing her by a few inches and hitting a nearby tree instead. 

_Sumpit!_ Oliver knew that whoever was trying to harm Felicity was more likely going to try blowing another toxic dart again in the next second or two. He wasted no time and launched himself at her, enveloping her in his strong arms and tackling her to the ground to protect her.

Felicity screamed as she hit the ground, Oliver falling on top of her. With his legs and his torso, he kept her pinned to the ground, as he reached for his bow and quiver that were right there where he had sat near the fire. Instinctively, he let three arrows fly in swift succession, in the direction where he had seen movement in the bushes, but there was no way of knowing whether he had hit the assailant or not. 

After a few seconds, he picked her up and dragged her to the nearest tree, shielding her with his body. He did not look back; all he was concerned about was getting her to safety behind the thickest tree trunk he could find.

“What was that? Who…?” Felicity asked him frantically.

“I do not know. Stay here.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, panic lacing her voice.

He crouched low, with his quiver strapped on his back and his arrow in hand, preparing to spring forward and go after whoever it was that had tried to kill his wife using a native bamboo blowgun to release darts with poisoned tips. 

“Oliver! What are you going to do?”

“Stay here.”

“No!”

“Stay!”

“I’m coming with you!”

“Fe-li-ci-ty!”

She was a stubborn woman, his wife. He glared at her and said sternly, “Stay. Here. I need you safe.” This time, she did as she was told.

Oliver waited. It seemed like their attacker had stopped shooting darts, at least for the time being. He must have scared off the attacker when he fought back with his bow and arrow. He had to go after whoever it was that had attempted to kill her, or him, or them. He had to find out who it was and why they were attacked. 

With adrenaline pumping within him, Oliver took off. But he was not able to go far. After just a few strides, he fainted and fell face down on the ground. 

Felicity saw him collapse, and she gasped. She saw two bamboo darts sticking out of his body – one on his shoulder and another on his back. He had been hit. He must have been hit twice when he had shielded her from the darts with his own body during their attempt to take cover behind the trees.

“Oliver!” she screamed his name. Without even thinking about her own safety, she ran to her husband. She turned him over and looked at his face. “Oliver! Oliver, look at me!” She cried, slapping his cheek lightly with the palm of her hand. 

Felicity saw agony on his face as he writhed in pain. He was breathing heavily, and bead-like sweat began to form on his face and neck.

“Get help,” he tried to tell her between gritted teeth.

“Where?”

“The village…”

“But I can’t leave you here alone. I won’t!”

“I will die if you don’t go.”

“No! They might come back and hurt you even more, or kill you. I can’t leave you!”

“Get help. _Lason._ The darts… _Lason._ No time.” His voice sounded weaker and raspier than it was before. 

Felicity had no choice to make. She had to do as he told her, even if she was too frightened to go into the jungle alone and find her way to the village. Even if she did not want to leave him alone, fighting for his life. He might be dead by the time she came back with help. She cared about him and feared for his safety, but she also didn’t want him to die. Kneeling on the ground, with his head cradled in her arms on her lap, and arguing with him were not going to save his life. 

“Please, God, don’t let him die,” she uttered a silent prayer. 

She still had so much she wanted to tell him – that she appreciated everything he’d done for her, that she was sorry for bickering with him over such petty things, that she was willing to wait for the right time to learn what _ay-ayaten ka_ means, that she admired his strength and bravery, that she adored the way he looked at her and touched her, that she cherished their bedtime talks, and that she had come to care about him. More deeply today than yesterday, and the day before that.

“Stay here. I’m bringing back help. And Oliver, don’t die. Or I’m going to kill you myself!”

Felicity took off and ran as fast as her leather-strapped sandals allowed her, hoping that she could still find her way down the path to the Kinanyao village and bring back help for her husband in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Tagalog word "lason" means poison in English.
> 
> 2\. The "sumpit" is an native blowgun made of bamboo or wood. It was a weapon used for warfare or for hunting that goes back to the time even before the Spaniards arrived. The arrows or darts shot through the blowpipe can be very deadly when their points are laced or smeared with poison from the toxic sap of the upas tree. The range of the sumpit is from 50-60 yards. The blowgun is also found in Malaysia, which is very near the Philippine islands.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity made it to the tribal village. Stuff happens while she waits for him to pull through.

The sun had set west of Kinanyaoan Island hours ago, and it was already dark. The chief and the village healer had already retreated to their own houses, and the entire village had retired for the night after a prolonged afternoon of frenzy. There was nothing more that anyone can do but wait for the chief’s favored son to awake from the deep slumber caused by the poison, as well as for his fever to break. 

Felicity refused to leave his side. 

The healer had assured them that Oliver was alive and that his heart kept beating still, albeit weak; nevertheless, the experienced herbalist respected by the entire community could not assure them when he would regain consciousness, or if at all he would. The old man had said in the native tongue, “In all my years of healing, I have never seen anyone survive the poisoned sap of the _upas_ tree from the tip of one dart, let alone two.” Shaking his head, the healer had departed after uttering a prayer to the gods to spare the life of the chief’s favored son.

Felicity refused to resign herself to the fate of a young widow. No, not after just a few days of getting to know this strange but wonderful man, who had always put her safety and well-being before his own. She certainly did not understand why he had cared so much about a foreign stranger like her in such a short time. She did not understand why he had given up his independence by agreeing to the conditions of his father, the chief, so that he could marry her to save her from burning at the stakes as payment for a Kinanyao warrior’s life. He had nothing to gain and everything to lose, she thought. 

She was just beginning to care about him, just beginning to discover how much he had come to mean to her in barely a week’s time. Back in Starling City, Dr. Palmer had courted her almost every day for four months, annoyingly persistent, she might add. Yet it had taken Oliver only four days to win her heart, in both daring and unpretentious ways. Oh, why had she realized these only now? Why now, when he lay unconscious, burning with a fever that threatened to snuff out his life before she even had the chance to show him that she cared?

Oliver had to wake up. There was so much she wanted to tell him. So much he needed to know. So much she needed to show. She regretted wasting precious time bickering when she could have learned so much more about him, or shared more of herself with him. She regretted that the last things she had shared with him before he had fallen were angry words and an arrogant attitude that hadn’t been easily entreated. What if Oliver never woke up? What if he succumbed to the virulent toxin from those fatal darts and she never got to tell him all that her heart now yearned for him to know?

Felicity wanted another chance. She prayed to God more earnestly than she ever did before that He would grant it, promising that she would not squander another day, another minute with her husband. She pleaded for a second chance to show the man, who had saved her life multiple times, how grateful she was to have him in her life at such a time as this. How much she had grown to love him, too.

She sat on the floor inside the _fale,_ the house that Chief Muidatu had gifted them for their wedding. Slightly elevated from the ground, the house stood on four posts made from _amugawan_ timber, buried deep into the ground and hedged in by large stones. It had a _cogon_-thatched roof shaped like a pyramid, which kept the inside of the house insulated from the heat of the sun during the day and kept it cool during the evening. The lower half of the wooden walls slanted inward while the upper half was formed by the inner side of the roof. Theirs was a house slightly larger than many in the tribal village that belonged to the lower classes of _timawas_ and _alipins_, whose houses had walls made of lighter materials.

The _fale_ had no windows, creating a dark and dreary atmosphere inside the single room dwelling. It reinforced her feelings of loneliness and isolation, borne out of the unpleasant predicament of being different in a village full of strangers. The darkness was suffocating, the silence deafening. And the only person who could turn this horrible house into a happy home lay insentient, possibly dying in front of her.

If her husband died, would the Chief release her from the tribe? Would they let her go back to her people and return to her family? Would she have to fight for her freedom or try to escape? 

Felicity’s mind was getting ahead of her situation. She really needed someone to talk to right now. She missed her father dearly. 

She broke down in tears, sobbing in the stubborn silence of the night. Anxious and afraid. Desperate and distressed. “Oliver, please… Please wake up. Please don’t leave me alone out here. I… I can’t… I need you,” she cried.

Her weeping was interrupted when she noticed Oliver shivering. “He must be cold still,” she told herself. It wasn’t really that cold that night. The thick walls of the house kept the cool evening breeze from seeping into the room. Yet, the handwoven ethnic fabric that already covered him was not enough to keep him warm. She got up, removed the blanket that was draped around her shoulders, and spread it over him from his chest down to his feet. She placed her hand on his forehead, and she wondered how it was possible for his skin to still burn beneath the tiny beads of cold sweat that formed on it.

She raked her fingers through his magnificent, long hair that was almost as long as hers. As she uttered another prayer over him, she felt his body quake. 

“Oliver?” 

The shaking stopped a few seconds later, but then his body quaked again. It happened a few more times, and it frightened her increasingly. “What do I do? Oh God, what do I do?!” she pleaded. 

She needed to get him even warmer, but there were no more blankets in the house. She thought of getting help, but she did not want to leave him alone. And even if she did, who would open up soon enough in the middle of the night when everyone in the village was already fast asleep? The nearest _fale_ belonged to Oliver’s half-sister, but it was about thirty meters up the hillside with only the faint glow of the clouded moonlight to guide her way. What if it’s too late by the time she came back with more blankets? 

Oliver started to groan. Felicity could actually hear his teeth grinding as his body shook intermittently. Then he began to mutter something that was unintelligible to her at first. But when she leaned closer to listen, she heard him call out a name he hadn’t mentioned to her before.

“Thomas…” Oliver managed to say between gritted, chattering teeth. He spoke it a few more times until his jaw locked, making it impossible for him to speak as his body continued to quake. 

A minute later, his jaw suddenly unlocked, but he began thrashing on the mat where he lay. “Feli-ci-ty!” he cried out.

Felicity’s heart broke. He was calling out to her even with his eyes closed. He needed her to save him this time, but how? What else could she do when the village healer had given up hours ago? What would her physician father tell her to do?

Without second thoughts, she unbuttoned the front bodice of her homestead dress, lifted her skirt to her waist, and slid under the blankets with her husband. She lay on top of him in prone position, resting her left cheek on top of his upper chest. She was definitely smaller than him. She wasn’t sure how much heat her body could supply his larger one, but at that point, she was willing to try anything to keep his shivering body warm and still. 

“Oliver, I’m here. It’ll be alright. You’ll be alright. Please, please stop shaking.”

This was the closest she’s ever been to the man she’d hardly called her husband. She felt him, skin to skin – on her face, her chest and abdomen, and on her limbs. She felt him, muscles tense on every inch of his torso and limbs. She felt the throbbing of his heart against her cheek, the rise and fall of his chest buoying her head like a boat on sea billows in a storm. It felt like her skin was slowly catching fire, for his fever burned like a blazing furnace underneath her. Soon she was covered in sweat that seeped through the fabric of her dress.

“Fe-li-ci-ty,” Oliver articulated once more, this time calmer and less fraught.

“I’m here,” she whispered, angling her head to make sure he could somehow hear her. “Oliver, I’m right here.”

She stretched her arms and reached for his hands. She wanted to entwine their fingers, but he suddenly let go. He lifted both his arms and embraced her. She gasped when she felt his arm wrap around her lower back, his other hand coming up and across her back to hold her nape. She looked up, only to find him still unconscious, his eyes completely shut. 

He clung to her fiercely, as if purely out of instinct. At first, she contemplated pulling away, but as she gradually eased, so did he. She somehow managed to squeeze one arm free from being tucked between his body and his arm, and she brought her hand up to his chest. She began to caress him there, calming him and whispering comforting words. The next thing she knew, Oliver stopped shaking and his breathing evened out.

Felicity let out a sigh of relief. She rolled to her side, and settled herself on his right side on the mat. “Oh God, thank you.” 

She wiped the tears from her face with a corner of the blanket, realizing just then that she had been crying all throughout the ordeal. It wasn’t just her face; she was damp all over with her sweat and his. She had brought nothing with her in their swift flight to the village, so she had nothing warm and dry to change into, but that was the least of her worries. Her concern was for her husband to get well and wake up soon. She truly hoped he would.

Someone rapped on the doorpost of the house, and Felicity called out, “Who’s there?” 

“It’s me, Big John,” the voice answered. “May I come in?”

Felicity buttoned her dress and sat up, still covered with a blanket from her chest down. “Yes. Come in, Big John.”

John Diggle came in, bearing two more native blankets, a sarong for Felicity, and clean water in a clay jar for them to drink. “I thought you could use these,” he said.

“Thank you,” she responded gratefully. 

The _sarong_ would suffice for now. She could survive the night with the wrap-around fabric. She could drape a blanket over her bare shoulders. She could hang her damp dress, wait for it to dry, and then change back to it in the morning.

“How is he?” John asked.

“Same,” she replied. 

“He’ll pull through. You’ll see,” John tried to assure her. Felicity smiled, nodding to indicate her agreement by sheer faith.

John Diggle was truly a kind man, Felicity thought. She was thankful for having run into him in the jungle as she had scurried down the path to the village to get help for Oliver. If not for this man, his big heart, and his incredible strength, she knew she would have already lost her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The next chapter will be treated as a flashback. It will explain how Oliver and Felicity made it to the village in time for the community to save his life, and how John Diggle came into the picture.
> 
> 2\. Sap from the upas tree was used to poison the tips of darts or arrows that were released by blowing into the mouthpiece of a blowgun called the "sumpit." The sap was scientifically found to contain a toxic cardiac glycoside that could increase the force of contractions of the muscles of the heart. The poison is fast-acting; it is said to be able to kill in five minutes. In this fic, time was of the essence, but I did allow for a longer time for Felicity to get Oliver the needed help. (More on how that happened in the next chapter.) I also added another side effect of the toxin when mixed in the body with herbs intended to counteract its effect on the heart - fever and chills.
> 
> 3\. I've described the "fale" previously, in Chapter 3 I think. It's an indigenous, traditional mountain home among the Ifugao people in Northern Luzon.
> 
> 4\. "Amugawan" is a kind of tree, most probably found in the mountains of Northern Luzon, used for building houses like the fale.
> 
> 5\. During pre-Spanish Philippines, the "timawas" were free men who worked for the nobles called "maharlikas." They often rented land to till, and sometimes got to own their own land. The "alipins" were servants or slaves, but not the kind that were thought of as property and were treated poorly or inhumanely.
> 
> 6\. The "sarong" is a large tube or length of wrap-around fabric worn around the waist (like a skirt). It can also be worn around the upper body (like a "tapis") to cover a woman from her breasts down.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big John tells Felicity how and why he was in the mountain jungle, and gives her a new mystery to solve.

"Thank you for everything, Big John," Felicity told their friend gratefully. "I don't think he would have made it if you hadn't been there for us."

"You're welcome. I'm just as glad as you are that our paths crossed in the jungle like they did. I'd call it luck, but I'm sure you don't think of it that way, being a minister's daughter," John Diggle answered. "In all honesty, I wasn't sure if I could get to you and Asintado in time to warn you, but I just had to try. I've never been to his tree-house, and this was the farthest up the Abu Mountains that I've ever gone. I didn't know if I would find you two at all."

"So, how did you find your way to the path that led up to the village? And how did you know that we were in trouble?" Felicity asked.

She did not believe in luck. She believed that everything happened for a reason, and that God had a purpose and a plan beyond the finite understanding of the human mind. Big John had been a God-sent, just at the right time and place. She was curious as to how the man had stumbled upon her in the jungle. Or was it the other way around?

She hadn't gotten far from the tree-house when her feet had failed her, and she had faltered. The next thing she knew, she had been helped back on her feet by the huge man. "Felicity, get up. It's alright. It's me, Big John." Oh, how she had been relieved when she recognized who he was.

All she had been able to tell him was that Oliver had been shot with poisoned darts and that they desperately needed to bring him to the village where he could be helped. She had brought Big John to when she had left Oliver, and when Big John saw his friend's seemingly lifeless body on the ground, the man had picked him up as if he weighed like a feather. Big John slung him over his shoulder and started to run down the path to the village that Felicity had led him to.

When they had reached the entrance to the village, Big John had started yelling, _"Tulong! Tulong!"_ Help had come immediately. Once the passersby recognized who it was that the dark-skinned foreigner had been carrying, word had been sent both to the Chief and the village healer.

Soon, they had been brought to the _fale,_ the one that the Chief's best _munhabats_ had built for Oliver and his bride to live in, which had been completed just that morning. The village healer had begun his work, concocting herbal medicines for Oliver to ingest and for dressing his wounds. Even the priestess had come, offering prayers to Kabunyan for the healing of Asintado, the Chief's favored son.

Of course, Chief Muidatu had been among the first ones that had met them at their house. The Chief had not said a word until the healer-herbalist had finished doing his work. When at last he had spoken, his only words had been, "My son will live."

Felicity had thought him presumptuous, seeing that Oliver still had looked pale, had difficulty breathing, had remained unconscious, and had begun running a mild fever. But something in the eyes of the Chief had given her a tinge of hope that indeed, her husband would survive. The Chief had seemed very sure that he would. Felicity had wondered where his hope had come from. She had wanted to understand and see if she could draw inner strength from the same source. But everyone in the house had kept silent after Chief Muidatu's confident declaration, and she hadn't dared press him for answers. She hadn't known him well enough yet to do that.

Big John shifted in his place. The answer to Felicity's question wasn't going to be easy to tell, nor was it going to be easy for her to hear.

"When you and Asintado left Christentown, I went back with my employer to the tobacco shop. I feared that Mr. Merlyn might terminate my services because I had gone to send you off when I was supposed to be at the store already, working. He assured me that I wasn't in any trouble, but warned me not to leave the shop again during store hours without asking permission," John began to narrate. "After I put up the sign in front of the store that the shop was closed for noon break, I headed back to the workers' quarters in the Merlyn estate. From a distance, I saw Mr. Merlyn receiving a familiar guest into his home."

"Familiar guest?" Felicity asked.

"Yes. I've seen the man a few times before. He's native Kinanyao, but from the clan that settled on the south side of the island. He goes by the name Yao Fei. From what I've learned from the natives who work on the plantation and live in the servants' quarters, the man is bad news."

"By 'bad,' you mean…?"

"Yao Fei is a highly skilled warrior that used to be a well-respected clan leader in the tribe. When he collaborated with foreigners years ago, at around the time of the Great Plague, he lost that favor among many of the Kinanyao, especially the Chief's clan and the clans loyal to the tribal leader and resistant to colonization. Rumor has it that Mr. Merlyn has, since then, contracted Yao Fei's services for some very suspicious business – the kind that had nothing to do with growing and selling tobacco and other crops."

"You mean the kind of business that's against the law," Felicity commented, seeking for clarification.

"The kind that has no regard for human lives when they get in the way of greed. Some of my Kinanyao friends say that Mr. Merlyn is largely to blame for instigating clan wars among the Kinanyao and feuds between natives and foreigners in the past decade or so. Yao Fei does the dirty job for him so that the government and the military will not suspect his involvement."

Felicity sighed deeply. Big John's words were indeed difficult to take in. However, she still did not understand what all of this had to do with Oliver and her. Was Malcolm Merlyn trying to kill them? Why would they be his targets? She began to wonder if this had something to do with the ambush that had gotten her father killed days ago.

"And you think that Mr. Merlyn is after _us_?" she asked Big John.

"I don't think so. I know so," he replied. "When Mr. Merlyn let Yao Fei into his house, I secretly made my way there too. Outside the living room door, I listened to their conversation. All I heard was Yao Fei agreeing to 'silence the Chief's white-skinned son and his new bride without anyone ever knowing.' I may not have finished my schooling, miss, but I know exactly what that meant. Mr. Merlyn was sending Yao Fei to kill you and Asintado. I talked to a couple of natives in the quarters and asked them how to find the Kinanyao village where the Chief lived. I figured the Chief would know where I could find the two of you. The stream was the last landmark my friends could give me, and after that, I was on my own to find the village the rest of the way. I could've gotten lost in the woods, but I ran into you just at the right time."

"Just at the right time…" she whispered in trepidation.

Felicity's heart was torn between gratitude and dread. On the one hand, she was grateful that John and she had found each other just at the right time. Too much time would have been wasted if she had gone straight to the village and then back again to him, and the effects of the poison would have been irreversible if that were the case. Big John had carried Oliver all the way to the village in brute strength and speed. He may not have gotten to them in time to warn them, but he had gotten them to the village in time for medicinal herbs to still have a life-saving effect on Oliver.

On the other hand, Felicity also felt terrified that someone so wicked had once again sought to take her life and her husband's. Hadn't they suffered enough over the horrific deaths of their fathers? Why would another horrible threat be hounding them again? More specifically, why was Malcolm Merlyn after her? Although she had only met him for the first time, she had been right to suspect that there had been something fiendish about the way the wealthy merchant had looked at her. And why was Mr. Merlyn after Oliver? She remembered her husband telling her that he'd seen the man before but could not remember when and where.

This was all the more reason why Oliver should wake up. He needed to hear everything that Big John had just revealed to her. They needed to put the pieces of this mystery puzzle together. She hated unsolved mysteries, and she needed her husband to help her figure this out.

Faint moonlight seeped through the thin slits of the _cogon_-thatched roof above them. Dancing shadows were cast by the dried grass as a mild breeze blew overhead, as Felicity gazed at her slumbering husband. Oliver looked more peaceful now than before Big John came. The shivering had stopped.

Big John spoke, "I should go to my place now. You should try to get some rest. You'll need the strength to take care of Asintado when he wakes up."

"_When_ he wakes up?" she asked, hoping for some reassurance. The words of the Chief hadn't been enough. She was the daughter of a physician, and she had seen enough in Starling City for her to predict whether or not her father's patients would recover.

"He will wake up," Big John told her. "You have to believe it."

She nodded, internally berating herself for almost losing hope. John's words reminded her of why she had gone to this island with her father in the first place. They were supposed to share their faith to anyone who would listen. Ironically, now she needed encouragement from people who had already gone through so much – the natives whose land had been taken from them, who had been driven away or forced to submit to the authority and might of foreign invaders; and her newfound, dark-skinned friend whose ancestors had suffered as slaves of her race, sold and forced into often inhumane servitude in the name of progress and increased production during an industrial age.

_My son will live. He will wake up. _That's what they had said.

She couldn't lose hope, and she didn't. When Big John left, Felicity committed her husband's life to God's will, praying earnestly and pleading that his life would be extended, for he and she had much to do. Everything had a purpose, she reiterated to herself, and at that moment, nothing else was truer. Robert Queen's death had a purpose. Her father's death had a purpose. There was a reason why Oliver had survived all those years, and a reason why she survived the attack less than a week ago. No matter how disconcerting and frightening it was that a new threat to their lives loomed over them, she clung to faith and hope, that even this had a reason.

Felicity fell asleep praying.

She woke up when roosters in the village started crowing, signaling the beginning of a new day. She got up and checked on Oliver. The fever had broken while they slept. She took a deep breath and smiled. She kissed his forehead, uttering a prayer of thanksgiving to God.

Oliver stirred. And before he even opened his eyes, the first word on his lips was her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "Tulong" means help in English.
> 
> 2\. "Munhabats" were local carpenters that were skilled at building Ifugao houses in the mountains.
> 
> 3\. I know that in the show Yao Fei is Chinese. But in this story, I placed him under the broad Asian category so that he would fit into the plot as an indigenous character.
> 
> 4\. I believe in both God's sovereignty and human responsibility. God has a plan and is in control of everything in the world He has made and in the affairs of men; however, men and women are also free to make their own choices and are accountable for each choice they make. That is the worldview that's reflected in this story. You may or may not agree with it, but I decided to put it in to share with you. Sovereignty, destiny, and moral responsibility are huge parts of the theme of this fic.
> 
> 5\. Sometimes it's ironic when the very people we intend to help also get to help us in return. In this case, Noah and Felicity Smoak had gone to the island on a humanitarian and missionary endeavor - to share the hope of the gospel message they wanted to share. But in this particular scenario, it was John and the Chief that had helped rekindle hope in Felicity. I think that's kind of humbling.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver finally wakes up. Felicity gets acquainted with the Kinanyao village.

There was no question in her mind. Whatever it was that the village healer had given Oliver to counteract the effects of the poison that had threatened to take his life the day before, it was working. Felicity wished that her father could have seen and studied the tribe’s wonder herb, this mountain miracle that had saved her husband’s life and made his speedy recovery possible.

When Oliver finally regained consciousness at sunrise, he had asked not just for her, but also for water to drink, after which he had lain back down and slept some more. By mid-morning, he had asked for something to eat. Felicity had gladly and patiently helped him consume some chicken broth and boiled _kamote_ that the Chief had sent. She had also given him some of the native _tapey_ to drink, which helped numb him to the pain of the wounds inflicted by the poisoned darts on his shoulder and back. 

The village healer had also returned to check on Asintado. The bearded older man had dressed his wounds with a poultice made from fresh medicinal herbs and what the natives literally referred to as “healing mud.” He also gave Asintado some more herbs to chew and swallow. Felicity had offered to assist the herbalist, who had so kindly allowed her to help. She had wanted to take care of her husband and also to learn some indigenous curing methods from the expert tribal healer. She thought that her father would be proud if she could learn and apply the best of what both science and indigenous medicine could offer.

By afternoon, Oliver had gotten up and back on his feet. Felicity had led him out of the house, and they had walked around, near their _fale_ at first, until they reached the edge of a terraced rice field. From there he pointed out to her certain places in the distance to acquaint her with the village he had grown up in. 

He pointed in the direction of the nearest spring where the villagers collected fresh mountain water to drink. He told her that further down the hill there was a brook where the women washed themselves and their family’s clothes together. He explained to her that the young men and women of the village would often be sent to the brook to catch fish for food, but that since frogs also abounded in the area, the Kinanyao had learned through generations how to cook frog meat in different ways. In the opposite direction, he pointed to where the villagers were threshing rice grains. The men and women were chanting a repetitive rhythmic tune while pounding on the red rice grains. Some of the women were winnowing them using a native _bilao_ to separate the grain from the chaff. 

Oliver also pointed to the direction where his father, the Chief, lived with his second wife, the mother of Wandatu. The Chief’s house was visible from where they stood but was further down the hill, past the house of Oliver’s youngest half-sister Amihan, who had recently been married to the village healer’s only son. Amihan’s house was the one nearest to theirs, and had been lent to John Diggle for as long as he needed to stay in the village. Amihan and her husband were to temporarily stay with her husband’s family.  
  
Tribal folks of various ages were everywhere that afternoon. There were children near an open rice field, singing chant-like game songs as they played with their hands. Other children were playing a game wherein they would run from a short distance and jump over a human hurdle without tumbling over. Whenever one of the boys failed to make the jump, he would crash onto the ground with the human hurdle, and everybody would laugh out loud at the sight. A few women were coming and going, balancing basket-loads on their heads with grace and poise. Some of the men, most probably warriors and hunters, were busy sharpening spears, knives of various shapes and sizes, and arrowheads. 

“It’s a beautiful village,” Felicity remarked as she scanned the terraced hillside and valley, which was dotted with numerous native _fale_. The panoramic view of the community surrounded by the wonders of nature was indeed peaceful and serene. She only hoped that living there among the tribal folk would be as positive an experience as that of admiring the landscape that surrounded them.

“It is. I am happy that you like it,” Oliver responded, turning to her with a small yet satisfied smile on his face. 

She smiled back at him and said, “Well, I am happy that you are better. For a while there, I was afraid you weren’t going to…” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t verbalize the fact that she had feared he would not survive the fatal sting of the poisoned darts.

Oliver brought his hand to her cheek and then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and then he took her hand in his and gently squeezed. He smiled once again and said, “I was also afraid. Afraid that I will die and not see you again.”

Felicity’s forehead crinkled as her eyes narrowed. Had Oliver really thought that she was just going to leave him lying there on the ground, dying? Had he feared he was going to die in the jungle alone? It pained her to learn that he struggled with such fears all alone while she had gone to get help. She should have been there beside him, holding his hand and reassuring him that he was going to live through the ordeal. 

She wanted to tell him right then and there that she had come to care about him, but she was not quite sure it was the right time. She wasn’t sure if she could say the right words. And so, she settled for words that bore traces of the sense of humor she inherited from her mother. 

“Well, here I am. And I am here to stay. You can’t get rid of me that easily, you know.” She smiled at him with a twinkle in her eye, and then she shifted her hand such that she was able to intertwine their fingers.

Oliver’s smile widened at that. “Thank you. You saved my life this time,” he told her.

“You are welcome. But I guess, even with that life-saving deed, I still can’t say that we’re even,” she replied. She thought about all the times he’d saved her life from certain death in the past days. The tally in her mind was four to one. “And I couldn’t have done it without Big John,” she added.

“Where is Big John? I have to thank him,” he asked, looking around in search of his trusted friend.

She answered, “He went with some of the men of the village to bring our things from the tree house over here. They should be back soon.” 

Oliver nodded in understanding, gazing at nothing else except her. 

She went on to say, “I made sure to remind him to bring Starling here and not to leave the poor horse in the jungle. In my panic and haste, I had totally forgotten all about that old steed. I could have gotten help much faster.”

Oliver smirked, at least, she thought she saw him smirk. His mind conjured up images of Felicity riding their horse down the uneven, winding path through the jungle to the village. He didn’t know whether he should feel amused or anxious.

“Or, you could have fallen off the horse and hurt yourself,” he told her, still trying to hold back the laughter that was bubbling inside him. He really did not realize that he had not laughed heartily in a very long time.

Felicity’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe that he was capable of jesting. “Does the bold and the brave warrior Asintado mean to tease?” Her hands came to rest on her hips. 

Looking at her with her arms akimbo and her face glowing with a playful smile, Oliver was convinced that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. 

“I know I’m not much of an experienced rider,” she continued, “but I would have you know, my dear husband, that I am perfectly capable of maneuvering a beast of burden at the very least.”

_My dear husband._ Oliver’s heart soared upon hearing those three small but meaningful words. She did consider him her husband after all. Since when had she started to change her mind about being married to him? When had her feelings for him shifted? Perhaps while he was sleeping. 

He did not want to think about those anymore. For him, _when_ her views and feelings changed was not as important as _what_ had changed. He focused on the fact that she had finally learned to regard him as her husband without considering it a burden, and no longer feeling like she was trapped in an unwanted relationship. She had called him _her_ _husband,_ a _dear_ one at that. And he was elated.

Oliver fixed his loving, longing gaze on Felicity, and she knew. She realized what she had just said. She had acknowledged three facts: that he was a husband, that he was hers, and that he had become dear to her. And because she truly did mean every word, she did not feel embarrassed, nor did she attempt to hide the blush that crept from her neck to her face – an evidence that she was elated just as much.

Nevertheless, it was a comfortable silence that transpired between them as they stared deep into each other’s eyes. No words were exchanged at that time. Understanding was budding; eventually and inevitably, the right words spoken at the right time will make it blossom. Very soon.

“Asintado!” Big John’s loud cry bellowed from the distance. He and the men had just returned with Oliver and Felicity’s belongings. Their dark-skinned friend was walking briskly up the dirt path, holding on to the leather straps that kept old Starling moving forward.

“They’re back! Come on,” Felicity uttered excitedly, tugging at Oliver’s hand. 

Her fingers were beginning to slip away from his as she pivoted to move away, but Oliver was not ready and willing to let go just yet. So, he firmly gripped her hand and brushed the calloused pads of his thumb on her knuckles. She looked down at their joined hands and smiled sweetly. When she blinked and looked up at him again, he smiled back at her and said, “Let’s go.”

Holding hands, they walked down the dirt path to meet their friend. In the next few days, they would be busy making their house a home…

…and figuring out together why Malcolm Merlyn seemed hell-bent on eliminating them. Felicity and John had yet to tell Oliver everything they knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do let me know if you are still following this fic, or what you think of this chapter. It's meant to be a breather before things start getting... exciting. ;-) 
> 
> 1\. The new character introduced is Amihan, Asintado's younger half-sister. Her name literally refers to the "northeast monsoon," the season of the year when cool, trade winds dominate the region and there is little to no rainfall. The season begins in November or December and ends sometime in May or June before the rainy season. This season is the best time to visit the Philippines.
> 
> 2\. "Tapey" is Igorot rice wine produced mostly in the northern part of the Philippines. It is made of rice yeast of the glutinous red rice variety, some water, and banana leaves. The rice is placed in an earthen jar for cooking, and before it is thoroughly cooked, it is removed and slathered on banana leaves to cool off. The rice yeast is pounded into powder and then mixed evenly with the cooked rice. It is then placed in a tightly sealed container and left in a cool, dry place. After 7 days, the container is opened, and the liquid part is ladled out of the jar. Traditionally, it is the women who make the wine, but it is the male head of the household or the oldest one that gets to open the container when the wine is ready to drink. It is said that when the wine is properly blessed before serving, it helps those who drink it to stay away from trouble.
> 
> 3\. The "bilao" is a large, platter-like woven basket that women use to winnow pounded grain to separate the grain from the chaff. It is not just used by indigenous peoples but even by lowland peoples. I remember watching my grandmother prepare rice for cooking by tossing grain from the bilao and catching them expertly. Only the brown outer covering of the grain fall to the ground. These days, rice is so well-milled you can buy them ready-to-cook and not have to use a bilao anymore. Instead, the bilao is used for serving large quantities of pansit (noodles or chow mein) and various kinds of rice cakes.
> 
> 4\. Once again, "kamote" is sweet potato, and the "fale" is the Ifugao cogon-thatched house on wooden posts. It's easy to Google images of the Ifugao fale and rice-terraced mountain villages that come very close to the village I imagined for this story. 
> 
> 5\. The indigenous tribes in northern Luzon consider frog meat among their exotic delicacies. The Igorots eat various kinds of vegetables and even varieties of snails like "kuhol." They also eat monitor lizards, wildcats, civets, and (without offending anyone, I hope) dog meat. Their favorite is perhaps the dish called "pinikpikan," which is chicken meat cooked in a very... interesting way. I'll leave it up to you to look it up if you want to. ;-)
> 
> 6\. I included "while he was sleeping" as reference to one of my favorite rom-coms "While You Were Sleeping," starring Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity discovers new things about Oliver. They talk with John Diggle about the previous attack. It seems they have more questions than answers.

For the rest of the afternoon, Felicity had been busy moving their belongings into their house. She and Oliver really did not have an abundance of personal things, so she had finished organizing their clothing, footwear, and other personal items in no time. 

What had taken most of her and John’s time and energy to organize were their tools, utensils, and supplies. She was thankful that John had been there to help; she truly appreciated the muscle needed to move the heavy things around, not to mention some of the sharp and pointed (and dangerous) tools and weapons that Oliver owned. She hadn’t realized that he had actually owned different kinds of knives and daggers, three different kinds of bows, and several kinds of arrows, which John had mentioned were mostly designed by Oliver himself through the years.

Of course, Oliver had insisted upon helping, arguing that he had been feeling so much better and stronger already. But Felicity had adamantly refused, to the point of threatening not to speak to him for days if he did not stop being stubborn and keeping others from doing everything for him just this once. Oliver had considered whether or not the cost of having his way was worth losing vital communication and interaction with his precious wife, and immediately, he had concluded that it wasn’t. He had shaken his head in defeat whilst keeping his head bowed and turned away from her to somehow hide a smile when, with a raised eyebrow and her hands on her hips, his wife had replied, “Good! I’m glad we have an understanding.” 

Felicity had sent him out of the house and instructed him to find something less strenuous to do while she and John worked. Oliver had sat outside the house and eaten some boiled _saba,_ until he saw the familiar face of one of his childhood friends. 

Ugong was a few years older than him, but he had been among the kindest boys in the tribe who had befriended Oliver during his first few weeks living among the natives, lonely and afraid. Through the years, Ugong had become one of the most respected craftsmen of musical instruments in the tribe.

Oliver had cheerfully greeted his friend, who had gladly stopped and put down the bundle of bamboo instruments he had been carrying in order to exchange some cordial greetings with him. Before Ugong had gone his way, he had gifted Oliver with a brand new _tongali,_ encouraging his friend to start playing on the nose flute once again, for he knew that Oliver had gotten quite adept at the instrument before leaving the village to live alone in the jungle. Oliver had thanked his friend, and as soon as Ugong had left, he began to try playing a couple of tribal tunes from memory, fumbling a bit at first. 

Later on, he began to experiment how he could play the vaguely familiar tune that had unexpectedly resurfaced in his mind. It was a traditional tune that he remembered hearing Felicity sing when he had stumbled upon her, bathing in the stream, before they were attacked – the same tune that his mother Moira used to hum in order to put him to sleep when he was a young boy. By the time the sun had set, Oliver had learned to play the tune on his newly acquired bamboo flute. It had had a calming effect on him. He could fondly hear both his beloved mother’s and wife’s voices in his inner ear as he played.

At about the same time, Felicity and John had completed their task of tidying the house and putting the supplies in their proper places inside and outside the house. She had thanked John for all his help, and he, in turn, had promised to come back and bring food for the three of them to share. John had wanted her to rest, offering to be the one to prepare their evening meal so that she could catch her breath and see to Oliver’s needs.

* * *

Felicity had gone down from the house to look for Oliver. She had found him sitting on the edge of a terraced rice field in the distance, with an odd-looking bamboo stick pressed against his face. She had approached him slowly from behind with the curiosity and stealth of a feline. When she had been just a few meters away, she had recognized that the stick was actually some kind of wind instrument, judging from the light, wistful tune that Oliver had been playing. The strangely yet sweetly familiar melody filled the air. When she eventually made out what the music had been, she had smiled. 

Oliver had been playing one of her favorite childhood songs, the same one that her mother used to sing to lull her to sleep most nights when she was a little girl. He was remembering more things from his past, she had thought, and that thought had warmed her heart, like the loving embrace of her parents when she had felt melancholic or frightened as a young child. 

Instinctively, Felicity had placed her hands around herself, arms across her chest and hands resting on her upper arms, wanting to imitate the same embrace that had made her feel loved and secure as a little girl. She had also wondered how the same gesture would feel like if it came from her husband, the man she had been learning to care about deeply. Those strong, painted arms of his would definitely feel different around her slender frame; nevertheless, she had still longed to be nestled safely in his embrace, like a tiny wild cat’s cub burrowing close into its mother’s bosom. She had imagined that it would most certainly feel like coming home, even if she was thousands of miles away from what she had considered to be her home. 

She was still a stranger in this place, no matter how hard she tried to believe that the Chief and his family had sincerely welcomed her into the village and into their lives. 

When she and an injured Oliver on John’s back had arrived with such urgency the day before, Chief Muidatu had told her in the Kinanyao tongue, “Thank you for bringing my son home. We shall do everything we can to save him.” The Chief had hugged her then, taking her completely by surprise. She had not understood a word that the old man had uttered, but her father-in-law’s actions had articulately spoken so much louder than mere words ever could. And yet, because of the stares of many unfamiliar faces of nameless people around her in the past two days, Felicity couldn’t help but doubt whether or not she would ever feel at home in such a place. She remembered thinking, while Oliver was still unconscious, that she definitely needed him to help her with the adjustments; otherwise, she just might succumb to the impending culture shock that might rob her of the newfound joys of married life.

As Felicity drew near, she carefully placed her hand on Oliver’s shoulder so as not to startle him and cause him to stop playing on his flute. He simply looked up and nodded, and continued to play the tune. 

Apparently, he wasn’t surprised by her presence. Unknown to her, he had already sensed her presence from several feet away, and he had intentionally played even more impressively on his instrument, knowing that she was approaching. He had been playing for her, actually, and the earnestness in his eyes now sought to communicate how he wanted to woo her with his music. 

She sat down beside him, her legs dangling over the edge of the rice field terrace. She gazed at him as he played, now with his eyes closed. She studied his features like a diligent student, before the remaining glow of the setting sun faded away completely and rendered her blind to his comely physical qualities.

When he finished, she told him softly, “That was beautiful. My mother used to sing it to put me to sleep when I was little.”

“Mine, too,” he replied, smiling to acknowledge her compliment.

“Did you just remember that now, or was it among the memories that had come back to you in the last few days?” she asked.

Oliver contemplated how to answer without giving away his secret that he had been there briefly at the stream whilst she bathed. “Both,” he replied. It was a safe answer, and it was the truth. 

“Come on,” she told him. “We better head back to the house before it gets dark. John will be back soon with supper.” She extended her hand, and he took it, quite eagerly so. But he was the one that stood up first to pull her up to her feet.

As they walked back to their house, she asked him, “What do you call it?”

“What?”

“That bamboo thing that you have in your hand.”

He gave the nose flute to her and explained, “_Tongali._ It’s a... You blow into the hole with your nose to make sound.”

“I see,” she said, looking at the bamboo instrument in her hand with great interest. “And you can play different tones depending on how you cover and uncover these other holes with your fingers?”

“Yes.”

“And your people use it to play music to put babies to sleep?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh? Then what kind of music do you play with it?” she asked again, her interest significantly piqued.

“It’s played by men, mostly. We play _tongali_ when we rest from work, mostly in the afternoons and early evenings, after a long day,” he explained. He didn’t know how else to tell her more without blushing sheepishly. But he remembered how resentful she had been the last time she had asked and he had withheld information from her. So, he took a deep, calming breath before he spoke further.

“We also play it for… for the women we like.”

For a brief moment, there was only silence between them. But when Felicity finally spoke to acknowledge that she understood what he had just said, the ironic simplicity and boldness of her inquisitive response took him by pleasant surprise.

Blushing, she asked him, “You mean, like the way you just played a moment ago?”

He nodded, saying, “Yes. I like my wife… very much.” A shy yet tender smile played on his lips, one that was just as affectionately reciprocated by the very woman he was referring to.

They walked the rest of the way hand in hand, like long-time friends who were just discovering that they had become so much more than just friends.

* * *

Half an hour later, John returned with food and some rice wine. They ate quietly, somewhat tired of the day’s activities. But after John and Felicity cleared everything while Oliver played an indigenous tune on his flute, they all knew that they needed to talk about what had happened the previous day. They had to be prepared for another eventually in the foreseeable future. Surely, the probability that a similar attempt at taking their lives was high, considering the assassin had failed to carry out his mission successfully.

Oliver was the first one to speak. “Big John, thank you again. You came. And you saved my life.”

John nodded once. “You are my friend, Asintado. I would do it again, if necessary.”

“I, for one, surely hope that it won’t be,” Felicity joined in, “but I don’t think that’s realistic.” She then turned to John and added, “This man that you spoke of… this Yao Fei… he seems very dangerous. It’s quite reasonable to think that he’s going to try to harm us again, seeing that he wasn’t very successful.”

“Yao Fei?” Oliver asked. He was stunned at the mention of the Kinanyao clan leader’s name, flummoxed that a fellow tribesman had dared take the life of the wife of the tribal chief’s son. At least, that was what he had thought before – that only Felicity was the assassin’s intended target.

“Yes,” John replied. “You know him?”

Oliver nodded in affirmation. “He was a leader of Kinanyao clan. The one on the south side of Abu Mountain.”

“The one that nearly got wiped out by the plague,” John added.

“Yes. But he went against the tribe. He joined the foreigners. He let them have the land of his ancestors. My father sent him away… and… his daughter Shado never became my wife.”

Felicity’s eyes narrowed upon hearing that piece of information. “You mean, you were supposed to marry Yao Fei’s daughter?”

Oliver simply nodded, dropping his gaze. He regretted including that last part in his explanation.

Felicity swallowed, trying to conceal how disconcerting the thought was, that her husband may not have become her husband at all, if things had happened differently. The fact that the woman in question had a name that she would remember from now on, did not help the budding jealousy that instantly sprung up in her heart. It was an emotion that she had never felt before, since she had never loved a man as she did now.

When John sensed the silent tension between husband and wife, he thought it best to steer the conversation back to the important issue at hand. “Asintado, we cannot take this threat lightly. Yao Fei is dangerous, a traitor to your tribe. Chances are, he will strike again.”

Oliver answered, “We can wait… and think carefully… about how to solve this problem. For now, we are safe here.”

“How can you be so sure?” Felicity asked.

“Yao Fei will not set foot in the village. He does not stand a chance,” Oliver replied.

“You said _we_,” John interjected. “The way I understood Felicity’s story, you thought she was the target. Are you saying that Yao Fei also meant to kill you?”  
Oliver pursed his lips and sighed. “Before… before I passed out, I thought only Felicity was in danger. But, I had a dream. Only… it was not a dream. It was a memory.”

Felicity immediately remembered that Oliver did have a troubling dream while he was unconscious. “Thomas. That was the name you spoke of while you slept with a fever,” she said.

“Thomas Merlyn,” Oliver responded, looking up at her. “He was my friend. In Starling. When I was a little boy. We used to play. In the park.” He wanted so much to explain everything to his wife and his friend, but he groped for words – not just because his vocabulary was still somewhat limited, but also because the truth that he had come to realize because of the vision in his sleep was such a bitter pill to swallow.

“Merlyn…” John murmured.

“That was how I met your employer many years ago, Big John. Thomas came to the park with his mother. A few times, his father came too.”

“I’m sorry to say this, Asintado,” replied John, “but I know for a fact that Yao Fei is working with Malcolm Merlyn. I saw them in the Merlyn estate. I even heard them talking. That’s why I came to find you as quickly as I could… to warn you of the danger.”

Very much concerned, Felicity asked, “What does your childhood friend’s father have to do with us now, Oliver? Why is he after us, and why does he want us dead?” 

Oliver took a deep breath as tears pooled in his eyes. “Because… Because I killed Thomas. I killed his son. I killed my friend.” A tear escaped the corner of his eye and fell as he closed it shut. The muscles in his chest constricted, and he felt a stabbing pain right through his heart. His guilt and anguish were plain for Felicity and John to observe even in the shadows cast by the fire on the ground.

“What are you talking about? When did this happen?” Felicity asked again.

“I… I did not know it was… Thomas,” Oliver replied, another tear falling down his cheek when he opened his eyes. “I only realized it… because of the dream… last night.”

Felicity moved from where she was and sat beside him. She placed her hand on his knee to comfort him. Oliver was obviously overcome with mixed emotions, and she wanted him to know that she was right there with him.

Oliver proceeded to tell them the story, speaking in fragments and struggling with his words. Felicity and John were patient, listening attentively to everything, spoken and not.

He told them that, not long after he had reached age 20 and was confirmed not only as a man according to Kinanyao law and custom but also as the tribal chief’s favored son, he and a handful of warriors had been sent by Chief Muidatu on an important mission. They were to accompany two of the elders of their clan who were supposed to meet with the elders of another clan in the Kinanyao village a few miles east of Paradise Point. The meeting was supposed to settle a dispute  
between that clan – which was in favor of selling the land to the foreigners who wanted it to be annexed to Paradise Point to increase production of crops like tobacco, coffee, and sugar for trade – and the other clans that were vehemently opposed to it. When Oliver’s party had arrived at the village, that clan’s elders were already meeting with a representative of a wealthy, influential businessman who was in partnership with the colonial government. A skirmish had resulted when the foreigners denied Oliver’s party entry into that clan leader’s house. To protect the elders of his clan, Oliver and the warriors had fought back fearlessly even if they were outnumbered by the guards and soldiers of the government’s contingency. In a heroic attempt to save the life of one of the elders caught in the crosshairs of battle, Oliver had shot the representative with two arrows to the chest. When he had come near to check on his victim, he had been shocked to find that the government’s representative had been just a young man like him. Worse, that young man’s dying words had been words of stunned recognition. 

“Oliver…?” That was the last word that had come out of the young man’s mouth. His name.

The name that he had secretly trained his mind to retain but to push back to his subconscious all those years. For some reason, that young man had recognized him, but he had not understood why then.

Hearing his name come out of the lips of someone else after all those years had driven him to rediscover his identity, his roots. Hearing his name uttered by a foreigner with the familiar English accent had triggered the resurfacing of past memories, as well as the urge to find out who he really was. A few days after returning from that tragic incident, Oliver had made up his mind to leave the village and live alone.

“Asintado,” John spoke when Oliver finished his story, “if indeed the young man you had killed about five years ago was your friend, Thomas Merlyn, then I think we can conclude that you, not Felicity, was Yao Fei’s intended target. It appears Mr. Merlyn wants revenge for his son’s untimely death.”

“You may be right,” Oliver responded.

Felicity was quiet, but something else bothered her terribly. “I agree. But something does not make sense to me, though,” she said, turning to look at Oliver.

“Malcolm Merlyn was never there when you… when his son was killed, for good reason. Correct? Then why did he stare at you and me back in Christentown like he knew us, like he knew me? I understand why he would hate you. But me? What did I ever do to him, when I haven’t even met him before in my life? The death of his son had nothing to do with me.”

“Maybe the ones that survived the incident told him how his son was killed. A white-skinned Kinanyao warrior must have surely stood out,” John speculated.  
“That’s true,” Felicity acknowledged. “But it does not explain why he looked at me like he hated me. I wasn’t there.”

“You are _my wife,_” Oliver suddenly spoke. “If Merlyn wants _me_ dead…” He couldn’t continue. He couldn’t bear to think about losing her in the vengeful hands of a father whose son he had killed years ago.

Oliver and John were right. She was just as much in danger as Oliver was. 

“So, what do we do now? Hide here in the village forever?” Felicity asked. “And what about you, Big John? You have a good life in Christentown. I doubt you can go back now. Wouldn’t Merlyn be suspicious about your sudden disappearance? It’s been two days.”

“I don’t know what to do… yet,” John replied. Their dark-skinned friend was calm, but the expression on his face betrayed his worry. “What I do know is that it’s getting late. We all need to rest. We can talk about this again in the morning when our minds are clearer.”

Oliver and Felicity agreed with John, and before long, John departed.

Felicity, however, could not shake off the gnawing feeling that something more was behind Malcolm Merlyn’s attempt at _their_ murder. She hated mysteries, and this was certainly one that she intended to solve, hopefully soon, before another attempt on their lives succeeded. Not wanting to worry Oliver any further, she kept quiet, opting to keep her intuitive feelings to herself in the meantime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The name Ugong refers to a humming sound in English.
> 
> 2\. The "tongali" is a bamboo nose flute commonly made and played by the Igorots of the Corillera mountains in northern Luzon in the Philippines. Men usually plug one of their nostrils so that they could easily blow air from the other nostril into the hole at one end of the flute. I learned from a documentary about the bamboo musical instruments of the Kalinga tribe that wind instruments like the tongali are used for leisure and recreational music-making as well as for courtship. There are traditional stories in the region that say the nose flute was used to help rice grow when it was young, because the soft sound of the flute attracted the rice.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity learns about the story of John Diggle's life (which also gives us the back story of Malcolm Merlyn). She and John tour the village, and stuff happens.

“And that’s how I came to live on this island some ten years ago,” John Diggle said to Felicity. 

After the morning meal they had shared together, Oliver had been called to see the Chief privately, so John and Felicity thought that getting further acquainted with the village and its people was a worthwhile way to pass the time while waiting for Oliver to come back. They had been walking around the village for a while when Felicity had expressed curiosity about her new friend’s background. He had kindly obliged and narrated the story of his life. She eagerly listened as they walked along the terraced fields and down the dirt paths that led to the different parts of the village.

John had started by telling her that he had come from a family of Negro slaves. He had been among the third generation of slaves in his family line, having been born to parents who had been slaves on a plantation in the southern state of Georgia. His parents and youngest sister had been among the countless casualties of cruelty and disease during the Civil War. He and his younger brother Andy had survived the atrocities of the nation’s bloody strife and had set out northward on foot, seeking a better life and a decent education in a school for the “colored” in Virginia that specialized in agriculture. Life had been hard, and not long after John had begun formal schooling, his younger brother had contracted tuberculosis and later perished. John had persevered despite his bitter losses in life and eventually graduated with high marks. It was some time after that when he had met businessman Malcolm Merlyn, who had been well on his way of rising from the ash heap that the war had left him wallowing in.

Mr. Merlyn’s wife Rebecca had died during the Civil War due to an accidental but fatal bullet when a battalion of Union soldiers passed through their town and seized his plantation. Mrs. Merlyn had died protecting one of her female slaves, their son’s nanny, whom a couple of drunk soldiers had been harassing one evening. Malcolm had mourned that loss inconsolably, and since then had harbored a deep-seated hatred for “northerners” in his heart. By the time the war was over, his plantation had become almost a barren wasteland, for the man had lost any kind of motivation to till his land. He had not even wanted to live on his property if he had to live in it without his precious wife. So, he had sold the huge house and the plantation, and using whatever else he had left, stored in the bank, he set out to the Far East, in the hopes of starting anew in a foreign land, thousands of miles away from what used to be his home, from the place where his miseries had begun. 

Malcolm had resolved that he was going to be greater, wealthier, and more powerful than he had been before. Nothing was going to get in his way, and no one was going to make him feel helpless and powerless to protect the ones he loved, ever again. If it had to come down to being shrewd or perhaps even ruthless, he’d decided that he was willing and ready to cross the line, long before the first opportunity had presented itself. 

Malcolm had bought a piece of land near Paradise Point and grew tobacco for export. Soon, he had also succeeded in befriending politicians, colonial government officials, and even a few ranking military officers. By the time he had fetched his son and brought him back to live with him in Kinanyaoan Island, he had already been counted among the most influential landowners in the colony. In fact, his political and economic clout had been powerful enough for him to have convinced the governor-general back then to grant him permission to negotiate a deal with the leader of a Kinanyao clan on the south side of the island, which allowed him to annex even more land near Paradise Point. That controversial transaction had caused quite a stir among the Kinanyao clans, instigating strife amongst them – something that Malcolm had welcomed, for it allowed him to extend his property even further inland, while the dissenting clans had been pushed further up the Abu Mountains as the foreigners widened their territorial claims.

John Diggle had met Mr. Merlyn when John had gone back to Georgia to visit his relatives. He had been without a job then, and Mr. Merlyn had offered him work, as well as a fresh start in a foreign land. Merlyn had enticed him with promises of a good-paying job and fascinating stories of an enchanting, far-away land in the east. The businessman had told him that he owned a vast property there and needed a servant he could trust, someone who could take charge of the natives that he had employed in his tobacco plantation. Having been unable to locate his relatives, John had taken the opportunity and sailed to Kinanyaoan Island with his new employer, Malcolm Merlyn, and his fifteen-year-old son Thomas, who had been shocked upon arriving on the island to find that his father had already remarried and fathered a child there.

“So, when did you move from Paradise Point to Christentown?” Felicity asked John.

“About five years ago,” John answered. “Christentown was the newest settlement. Establishing the town was part of the colonial government’s policy of relocating the native population. There were already too many of them flocking to Paradise Point, especially after the Great Plague. Governor-General Sebastian Blood put Mr. Merlyn in charge of running the settlement and made him some sort of mayor. It wasn’t long after we moved to Christentown that I met Asintado.”

“Well, I’m happy that Oliv-- I mean, Asintado has you for a friend,” Felicity remarked. “His life must have been pretty sad and lonely, what with him living alone in the jungle these past few years.”

John looked at her earnestly and said, “He is a good man, Felicity. I think that by now, you would agree with me.”

Felicity smiled. “He is. He’s saved my life a number of times – the most recent one, he did at the risk of his own life. But…” She paused to take a breath. “It isn’t just his bravery and selflessness. It’s more than that. It’s…” 

She wanted to tell John that Oliver was the kindest, most caring, and most thoughtful man she’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. Friends and family back in Starling would never believe her if they just looked at her husband’s strange and rugged – not to mention, fierce – outward appearance. She was finding that her husband – this stalwart tribal warrior who had protected her like a ferocious animal protecting its young – can be just as sweet and tender as a lamb. She found herself wondering who the savage ones and who the civilized ones in this world truly were. 

The smile on Big John’s face told Felicity that he somehow understood what she was finding hard to describe with mere words.

* * *

Near the foot of the hill, they passed by a _fale_ that looked slightly bigger and evidently more elevated from the ground than most houses in the village. There was a group of women gathered in the sunken ground underneath the house. They were sitting around wooden beams hanging from the ceiling, which was actually the floor of the house above. The younger women looked like they were watching the oldest female weave a tribal cloth using brightly colored threads. They were carrying on a lively conversation as they watched the expert weaver work.

Curious as to what the women were doing, Felicity stopped to watch the old woman weave. When she took a few steps closer to them, some of the younger women looked at her and began to talk in hushed voices. They didn’t have to, for Felicity could not really understand what they were saying in Kinanyao. It didn’t take Felicity long to realize that they were talking about her. The body language and the facial expressions certainly made her feel like she had instantly become the object of either envy or ridicule. Or both. 

She took a couple of steps back, not wanting to intrude any further or invite even more trouble. As she withdrew from the unwelcoming group of women to rejoin John on the dirt path, one of the women who was chewing on a betel nut with blood red pigment spoke out, obviously intending to let Felicity hear her outburst. 

_“Baket?! Isu, nto kitaen!”_ the woman said with cynicism, giving Felicity a side-eye. _“Adda ti duwwa nga buras nya.”_ The woman laughed scornfully, and the other young women also laughed with her.

“Big John?” Felicity said in hushed tone. She bit her lower lip in trepidation. She wasn’t sure if she really wanted to find out what the women were saying about her.  
Immediately John Diggle knew what she was asking for. He shrugged and simply said, “I don’t understand everything,” which was true. John was the kind of person who did not have it in him to lie. Yet the expression on his face and the way he shrugged his shoulders betrayed the fact that he did understand _something_. She stared at him in anticipation, waiting for an interpretation.

“Felicity, I don’t understand Kinanyao very well,” John told her as he began to turn and walk away briskly.

But she followed after him and said, “But you do understand a little, don’t you? You’ve worked day in and day out with native workers at the plantation for years now.” She was right, and she knew it.

“Big John, please,” she pleaded. She knew that not getting a proper answer would bother her for the rest of the day, maybe more.

John hesitated a little, unsure of whether or not he should yield. When they were already out of the women’s earshot, he decided that she had a right to know. If she remained ignorant of what some malicious people in the village were saying about her, she would be defenseless against those who might try to harm her with gossip and insults. She would be the constant subject _and_ object of ridicule. She had to know. So, when they were already a safe distance away from the weaver’s house, John stopped walking and turned to her.

“Felicity, those women were talking nonsense, old-fashioned gossip,” he began to say.

“About me.”

John nodded, pursing his lips. “About you being Asintado’s wife.”

“What were they saying?” Felicity asked.

“The woman who spoke out seemed to be challenging your position as Asintado’s favored wife.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, increasingly agitated.

“They spoke of you having two harvests.” John swallowed. He was more hesitant now to continue, but seeing Felicity glaring at him, he caved. “If I understand Kinanyao custom correctly, a man’s first wife has two harvests to prove that she is capable of conceiving before…”

“Before what?” she asked again, even more anxious than before.

John looked her straight in the eye and replied, “Before the husband has to find himself another wife that could.”

Felicity was dumbfounded. And upset. “What do you mean the husband _has to _find another wife? What kind of custom is that? I can’t believe a woman has to share her husband just because she can’t have children in such a short time! What if the wife does not agree with this? Doesn’t she get to say something?” Felicity could not believe that such a social norm even existed. 

“Felicity, we do not make the rules here,” John reasoned.

“But…” 

Felicity could not hold back the tears any longer. The dam of surging emotions burst, and she took off like a whirlwind, John calling out her name behind her.

The myriad of thoughts swirled in her mind as she ran back to their house. She needed to be alone. She wanted to be. The peace and quiet, the solitude would help her calm down and think through what she had just discovered about a possible future for her and Oliver. It did not make sense to her at all – how people would value having children over preserving the sacred union between a husband and wife. She was so sure that she had started to care about Oliver; in fact, she was so close to telling him that she loved him. She was fully aware that in time, she would willingly give herself to him and to the kind of physical intimacy that, hopefully, would not only produce children – out of love and not obligation – but also satisfy their need for affection and pleasure. 

But with this recent discovery of what Kinanyao culture demanded of her as a wife, she felt utterly forlorn and insecure. A part of her even felt degraded, like she was some commodity to be discarded if it did not perform or measure up to people’s expectations. Still another part of her was indignant at the thought that women in the village were already contemplating on falling in line behind her, just in case she failed to give the favored son of the Kinanyao chief an offspring by the second harvest.

Should she force herself to want to make love with Oliver because of the pressure of time constraints and social norms? And what if, when she was finally ready, she still wasn’t able to conceive? What then? Did Oliver value her enough to remain monogamous, or was he more faithful to his tribe than to his own wife?  
At the foot of the ladder to their house, Oliver met her. He had already been waiting for her for some time. He stood up to greet her with a smile, but she couldn’t even look at his face.

“Felicity?”

She did not answer him. She did not even look up to meet his gaze.

“What is wrong? Why are you crying?” he asked. He was troubled upon seeing that his wife was upset.

He reached out to touch her arm, but she flinched. “Oliver, please… Just leave me alone,” she begged him, and hastily went up into the house.

For the first time since their unexpected ceremony, she was on the verge of truly regretting becoming Oliver’s wife. She had already lost her beloved father. Now she had to deal with the possibility of losing her husband, whom she was just learning to love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your thoughts on this chapter? I hope you don't hate me for ending the chapter with angst and hurt. Don't worry, after hurt comes comfort. ;-)
> 
> 1\. By now it's clearer what the historical period I have chosen for this AU fic is. The story is set in the tropical Far East, post-Civil War, after slavery has already been abolished, towards the turn of the 20th century.
> 
> 2\. "Baket?! Isu, nto kitaen! Adda ti duwwa nga buras nya." This can be translated into English as: "Wife?! Huh! We shall see. She has two harvests." What John Diggle told Felicity was not a direct translation, as he did not really speak Kinanyao. He only understands some things in context, having picked up some basic words in his daily interactions with natives working in the Merlyn plantations. What he told her was what he understood the words to mean, which just goes to show how intelligent and insightful this man is. His interpretation is spot on.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver, Felicity, and Big John get invited to the Chief's house. Felicity has new experiences, one in particular that causes her to come to her senses, literally and figuratively.

Oliver had been waiting for a while for Felicity and John to return. He had sat on the bottom step of the short ladder that led up into their _fale,_ anxious about how he was going to tell his wife and his friend about the conversation that had transpired between him and his father concerning the attack on them the other day. But when Felicity arrived as upset as she was, he had decided that a talk with them had to wait. 

She had been crying, her eyes wet and weighted with care. He had tried to reach out to her, but she had spurned his attempt to comfort her and hurriedly disappeared into the house. He hadn’t followed her inside. Whatever it was that had troubled her immensely, Oliver had understood that she needed the space she had asked for. She had told him to leave her be, and he respected that. If it were he who was upset and wasn’t ready to speak to anyone, he would ask the same thing of her. They had come so far since the day they met; he had to believe that they weren’t going to go back to being strangers. He had hoped that her preferred silence and solitude would not be permanent.

He had checked in on her at noontime, offering her some chicken meat; she had told him that she wasn’t hungry. Not even the _pansit-pansitan_ greens that she liked had been able to change her mind about skipping the noontime meal altogether. She had almost fasted for the rest of the day, had it not been for the unexpected invitation of the Chief that they join him for the evening meal. Felicity had still been very upset, enough to keep Oliver at bay, but she was not without manners and courtesy; hence, she had obliged the Chief and had gone with Oliver to his father’s house to eat supper.

Big John Diggle had also been invited. If not for his heroic deed, he never would have been allowed to set foot inside a Kinanyao house – the Chief’s, no less – let alone asked. According to indigenous belief, dark-skinned men were physical embodiments of antagonistic lesser gods that Kabunyan had banished from the earth to the underworld. Big John would have been shunned from the village, had it not been for the fact that he had helped save the favored son of the tribal chief. In the past three days of his stay among the Kinanyao, the people had seen his kindness. And although they were not yet ready to admit that their prejudiced view of colored people was tenuous enough to discard it, they were willing to consider Big John as a special exception, as far as Kabunyan’s mercy and wisdom were concerned. Oliver believed and hoped that one day, the Kinanyao would abandon the unfounded belief altogether.

* * *

When Oliver, Felicity, and John arrived, Chief Muidatu had warmly received them and had led them to the area underneath the large_ fale_ where they were supposed to dine. The Chief’s wife had been there, smiling at them just like her husband. Amihan had also been there with her husband and her father-in-law, the village healer. Unfortunately, the Chief’s other son, Wandatu, had also been there with his second wife, whose name was Oime. Both had been stoic the entire evening.  
Felicity had immediately recognized Oime as the woman that had voiced out the derogatory remark about her at the weaver’s house earlier that day. It had finally made sense to her why a woman she had not done any ill towards had scorned her so. Like husband, like wife, she’d thought. 

Thankfully, they had all been in the presence of the Noble Chief Muidatu, which was why no one had misbehaved, and there had been no untoward incident or uncalled-for exchange of unkind words. The Chief had dominated the conversation during meal time and even in the hour that followed. Felicity had been mostly quiet, observing the demeanor of her husband’s family members, especially Wandatu, who had glared at her once when he had chanced upon her staring at him curiously. 

All throughout, Felicity had felt somewhat left out, being the only one who could not contribute to the exchange of ideas. She could not understand much by relying only on facial expressions and body language. She had suddenly appreciated her time with Oliver in the jungle. Even if he had been the only one she could talk with, at least, they had been able to communicate. In the village, they were surrounded by people – some friendly (like Amihan), some not (like Oime) – but after what had happened earlier that day, she had never felt more alone in her life.

At one point, Chief Muidatu had asked her something, and Oliver had translated it for her. The Chief had asked how she was adjusting to living in the village. Of course, she could not tell her father-in-law directly that some women had been mean to her (the sister-in-law sitting nearby included); she hadn’t even told Oliver about it. She had not wanted to stoop down to the level of Oime and indirectly insult her in the same manner that the spiteful woman had done to her earlier that day. She was better than that, and her father would be very proud of her. Instead, with Oliver translating, she had chosen to express her appreciation of the beauty of nature that surrounded the village and the kindness of the people that had been helping them get settled. She had ended her tacit answer by saying “thank you” in Kinanyao herself, and the Chief had been impressed. Oliver, too, had been more than pleased to hear her speak courteously in Kinanyao, just as he had taught her in one of their language sessions.

Chief Muidatu ended the evening by assuring Felicity that they would be safe from harm for as long as they stayed in the village. He explained that the notorious Yao Fei – who had become a turncoat to his people in exchange for the colonizers’ promises of power and wealth – would not dare attempt another murder, much less succeed in doing so, while they remained in the village. Every Kinanyao warrior (Wandatu included) had already been instructed to keep a watchful eye on them and had pledged to protect the Chief’s favored son and his wife at all cost. 

Oliver, Felicity, and John thanked the Chief, not just for his reassurance of safety, but also for the family’s hospitality and the sumptuous meal comprised of the tribe’s finest delicacies. When the Chief finally stood up to signal the end of the evening’s visit, Felicity said to him,_ “Naimbag nga rabii,”_ as articulately as she could manage, bowing from her waist and taking a step back respectfully, in the same manner that she had seen Oliver do. 

The Chief smiled at Felicity as she straightened back up. “I was right in allowing Asintado to claim you as his wife,” he had declared proudly in the native language. “You are Kabunyan’s gift to my favored son. Two similarly tragic paths intersecting at the appointed time and place to shine the light of hope upon two peoples at odds. Kabunyan would not have it any other way.” 

The Chief believed that it had not been mere coincidence that a white woman had also lost her father through an ambush, just like his white son had. He had seen divine destiny at work, and he had been anticipating what the future held in store for them, for the tribe and the foreigners. He had begun to pray for a way to avoid further armed conflict and forge peace between their peoples through Asintado and his wife. He only regretted that those two had already lost their loved ones at the hands of his tribe’s own warriors.

Felicity looked to Oliver for an explanation of the Chief’s declaration. He was glad to translate it for her. Oliver couldn’t agree with his father more, for he had believed from the day that he had first gazed into her beautiful blue eyes that she was destined to be a vital part of his life and more. When Oliver finished translating his father’s words to the best of his limited ability in English, he looked deep into her eyes, searching for a meaningful response. But Felicity was speechless, overwhelmed at the Chief’s words. She could neither speak nor look at anyone. So, she simply bowed her head, as she contemplated on the significance of the tribal leader’s words. 

Truth be told, she could not deny the truth in the Chief’s insightful declaration. The untimely demise of their fathers at the hands of the Kinanyao had changed both her life and Oliver’s. Nevertheless, those separate yet parallel tragedies had brought them together for a reason. There had to be. The God she had faith in had designed their paths to cross in an extraordinary way, and she believed that they had barely scratched the surface when it came to understanding His sovereign plan for their lives. And if she stood by such a conviction, she would also have to believe that they were meant to be – not just for a time, but for as long as God deemed necessary for every single one of His purposes to be fulfilled in and through their lives. Together. Felicity may not have consented to marry him on the day that they were wed through a rather short and hasty tribal ritual, but she believed in the sanctity of marriage. More importantly, she could no longer deny that in the span of just a few days, the man she had initially struggled to accept had so wondrously captured her heart. 

These thoughts caused Felicity to remember what she had resolved to do when Oliver was still unconscious and fighting for his life. She had then decided to tell him that she cared about him and that she already had feelings for him. But how could she, after what had happened earlier that day? Her heart was torn between her resolution to confess her affections for her husband and her fear of losing him later on if she did not give him a child in two harvests’ time. Felicity realized that the only way to settle the matter once and for all was for her to have an honest talk with Oliver and ask him where he stood regarding the tribal custom that was a critical threat to their growing relationship. Only then would she know for sure whether or not her fears were baseless, and whether or not it was indeed the right time for her to be honest with her husband about how she felt about him.

Oliver asked John to accompany Felicity back to their house, as he needed to discuss some things with his father and his half-brother. He said that he did not want them to wait for him, as the matter might take some time to discuss in private. Thus, John departed with Felicity while Oliver stayed behind.

* * *

On their quiet walk back to the house, John and Felicity passed the tribal healer’s house and saw Amihan and her husband there, lingering in the shadows by one of the four trunk-like posts that the_ fale_ stood on. The newly-weds were speaking in hushed voices, almost oblivious to their presence, as they exchanged words of affection, no doubt, judging from the way they touched and held each other. The moon shone more brightly than the night before, so the demonstratively affectionate gestures of the pair were not as hidden from plain sight as they thought.

Felicity looked at the couple briefly and then turned away. It wasn’t because she felt awkward or embarrassed for them. It was because she had felt a tinge of envy (maybe more), witnessing what Amihan delightfully shared with her husband. Felicity wondered if she could have that too, without reservation or doubt. She wondered what it would feel like for her own husband to touch her and love her like that. She sighed and prodded John to resume walking.

Just as Amihan and her husband climbed the ladder leading up to their house, the husband said to her, _“Ay-ayaten ka.”_ She giggled softly as her husband gave her a chaste kiss on her lips, tugging her up to their house.

Felicity heard the man’s words clearly. _“Ay-ayaten ka.”_

She immediately thought the words were familiar. She certainly had heard them before. From Oliver. That night when they had talked in the treehouse. When he had recovered memories of his childhood and his family. They had both been so happy. She remembered the way that he had touched her, so tenderly that it caused her heart to flutter within her. She remembered exactly how he had gazed upon her so intensely that she had felt like she was going to melt under his passionate stare.

_“Ay-ayaten ka.”_ She had asked him then what he had meant, but instead of giving her a decent answer, Oliver had teased her. But now she knew. She needed no translation, no explanation. What she saw between Amihan and her husband was enough to make her understand that Oliver did not just care about her, duty-bound to protect her and provide for her as his wife. Oliver _loved_ her. Enough to want her the way a committed man wanted the one woman that had captured his heart.

_“Ay-ayaten ka.”_ The words lingered on her lips almost subconsciously, deepening with delight as she reminisced every single time that Oliver had demonstrated their meaning through actions rather than mere words in the past days. By the time the realization completely sank in, Felicity was already standing in front of their house and saying ‘good night’ to Big John. 

When Big John left, Felicity made up her mind about what she was going to do. She was done keeping her feelings to herself – be it fear or frustration or affection. Oliver was her husband; he had the right to know. She wanted him to know. And she was ready to say the words back.

Felicity went inside their house and headed straight for the _tampipi_ where she kept her clothes and personal belongings. She pulled out the _sarong_ and changed into it. Then, she retrieved her wedding necklace and put it on. She hoped that when her husband came home, he would be pleased to see the beads and shells hanging around her neck and the pearl of great prize resting on her heart. At last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're almost there. Hang on... :-)
> 
> 1\. About the Kinanyao's view of John Diggle: It's ironic that the indigenous tribe, which the westerners were biased against, also has its own set of prejudices. They do not want to be considered less and uncivilized, but they are guilty of the same thing when it came to a certain race whose skin was darker than theirs. I wanted to show that sometimes those who are oppressed neglect to look inside themselves and see that they, too, are just as much to blame for the discrimination and abasement that they fight so hard to break free from. It can happen.
> 
> 2\. "Naimbag nga rabii" is translated into English as "Good evening."
> 
> 3\. "Ay-ayaten ka," if you recall, means "I love you."
> 
> 4\. Unfortunately, I could not find a picture of the kind of sarong that I imagined for Felicity in this story. The sarong is colorful, printed fabric that is worn as a wraparound skirt, or it may be wrapped around the torso covering a woman from her chest down below her knee. It is more commonly worn in the southern part of the Philippines and in the islands of Indonesia, south of the Philippines. Igorot wrap-arounds from the northern part of the Philippines are used around the waist. In the olden days, Igorot women wore nothing or hardly anything on top. Today, they wear t-shirts to match the wrap-around skirts. See, this fashion fusion I have in my head for Felicity is one reason why this fic is more of pseudo-history than actually historical. I couldn't have her wearing the wrap-around skirt and topless now, could I? Nope. Haha! ;-)


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, Oliver and Felicity get to talk. And more.

Oliver trudged up the dirt path in the dark, with just enough moonlight guiding him along the way. Everyone in the village was already indoors, and it was almost an entirely tranquil night if it hadn’t been for the cacophony of crickets and other nocturnal wildlife that floated in the evening air. 

He couldn’t wait to get home to Felicity. He hoped she was already willing to talk. He had so much to tell her, starting with what he and his father had discussed about the attack and a possible plan of action against the threat on their lives. But if there was anything he was concerned about most at the moment, it was her safety, more than his own.

He and his father had agreed that the elusive traitor Yao Fei was indeed a perilous force to reckon with, especially since they already established that he is in league with the very influential Malcolm Merlyn. His father had warned him that from what the leaders of the clans had heard in the past few years since he was away, Malcolm Merlyn had established very strong connections with the colonial government and with the dissenting clans in the lowlands that have allied themselves with the foreigners. 

His father had not been surprised when he divulged everything that Big John had told him about Merlyn and Yao Fei. The Chief had somehow had an inkling that those men had been plotting something sinister against the Kinanyao for years. And considering that Merlyn had begun to come after him to eliminate him after encountering him in Christentown a few days ago, his father had concurred with the speculation that Merlyn – and Yao Fei – might have had something to do with the murder of his white father.

Wandatu had been listening silently yet very attentively the whole time. He had seemed quite hesitant and skeptical about the speculations despite Big John’s testimony. It had been evident in the way his shoulders stiffened at the mention of Yao Fei. Something in the way his eye twitched gave away the unease he had tried to conceal. Once, he had expressed doubt that Merlyn had indeed been behind the death of Robert Queen, for neither his father nor his half-brother could adequately establish motive. 

Nevertheless, Oliver and the Chief had agreed that they needed to proceed very carefully from here on, since they did not want to risk fanning the flames of war between their tribe and the foreigners that had already been sparked since the aftermath of the Great Plague. Wandatu had neither agreed nor objected; he simply submitted to their father’s will. Oliver had thought that one of these days, he needed to have a serious talk with his half-brother. He had sensed that there was more to Wandatu’s odd response than he was letting on.

* * *

Even with the threat of danger that loomed ahead of them, Oliver’s mind was still very much preoccupied with none other than Felicity. He wanted to find out what had upset her all day, and what he could do to put the smile, which he loved so much, back on her face. If someone had upset her, he would make sure to deal with them accordingly. 

Truth be told, he had missed his wife all day, had longed to hold her hand just like she had let him in the last two days. He missed hearing her voice and the multitude of English words springing out of her sweet lips like a refreshing fountain – one that had been causing more and more words to well up from his own secret spring since the day she stepped into his life so unexpectedly about a week ago.

Coming from the Chief’s house, Oliver had met Big John, and he had asked if his good friend knew anything about it, but Big John had told him, “You should ask her. She’s your wife, Asintado.” He had nodded in understanding and had bidden his friend ‘good night.’

Oliver had walked in the dark for a while, so when he entered their house, it did not take long for his eyes to adjust to even more darkness inside the window-less room where Felicity lay on a mat. He immediately made out her sleeping form, which was beautiful to behold even in the shadows, and even with her back turned against him. 

“Oh, she’s already sleeping,” he thought to himself, regretting that he had taken too long meeting with his father and half-brother. He would have felt disappointed that they would not be able to talk anymore if he hadn’t noticed that she was not covered up in a blanket yet. He thought it strange, for he had always observed her sleeping with a blanket pulled up to her chest even when the evening air was not that cold. 

He drew nearer softly so as not to wake her, but when he was just a few steps away, she stirred. Turning to face him, Felicity spoke, “You’re home.”

“You are still awake?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes, I was waiting for you,” she replied. “I wanted to… We need to talk.”

Felicity sat up, and the movement caused her sarong to slide off, revealing one of her legs up to mid-thigh. She didn’t mind, thinking that the darkness in the _fale_ veiled her limbs just fine. 

Oliver didn’t mind either. His pupils were dilated just enough for him to see clearly in the dark. He also appreciated the sight before him – the beautiful creature that was his wife. The corners of his lips turned up for a small smile upon seeing what she was wearing, especially the beaded necklace around her neck with the pearl resting on her chest. It reminded him that this wonderful woman in front of him was his wife by right and tribal law.

He was about to tell her that he needed to speak with her as well, but he thought the better of it and decided that he should let her speak first. He had been waiting for her to open up to him all day, and he did not want her to change her mind. So, he decided to compliment her instead, hopefully to make her feel more at ease and to encourage her to express exactly what was in her heart.

He reached for the pearl that dangled at the center of her necklace and said, “This looks good on you.” He shifted his gaze lovingly from the pearl to her eyes, a little bit disappointed that he could not see the beautiful blues that never failed to enthrall him in the light.

Felicity placed her hand on his wrist, just in front of her chest. She rubbed the pad of her thumb against his pulse point, as she looked at the pearl in his hand.

“Thank you. I like it very much. It… It reminds me of who I am now,” she replied.

Oliver smiled, his lips parting a little. He understood what she was referring to, and his heart took wing knowing that she already recognized and accepted the fact that as far as Kinanyao law and custom was concerned, they were married, and she was his wife. But he wanted to know how she now felt about it, so he asked, “Are you happy?”

She took a deep breath, and then blinked before looking up at him. “At first, I thought that being married to you was my worst nightmare. I felt terrible, losing my freedom just like that, even if it had saved me from burning at the stakes. It felt almost as painful as losing my father.” She paused after her voice quivered at the memory of her beloved father. After taking another breath to calm herself, she was able to keep the tears that were welling up in her eyes at bay. 

“But, seeing how you’ve always put my best interests first in the past days, how you have shown that you care about me, even if I can be so stubborn sometimes… I think… I _know_ in my heart that I have come to care about you, too. I can’t explain it, but… I am. Happy. To be your wife. To be with you.”

Oliver was smiling more widely now. He truly liked what he was hearing. What she had just confessed was so amazing and overwhelming! He felt like he could run to the highest peak of the Abu Mountains and shout the traditional tribal call of victory at the top of his lungs. 

But he did not run off. He stayed firmly rooted in front of his beloved. He let go of the pearl, laying it back down on her chest. His hand moved to cup her cheek, and despite the callouses on his palm, she leaned into his touch and closed her eyes for a moment.

When she opened her eyes again, she continued to speak. “It’s just that… this morning, I may have learned about one of your tribe’s customs, and it troubled me so. I wanted to know where you stand.”

“What custom?” Oliver asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her saddened, troubled face. Something was really disturbing her, and he was relieved that she trusted him enough already to express what it was.

“The one about a man having to take another wife if his first one isn’t able to conceive after two harvests,” she replied, much to his dismay. 

“Hmm.” The sound was barely audible, softly reverberating in his throat. Oliver knew exactly which tribal custom she was referring to. He had hoped that they would never have to discuss it, confident that it would never come between them, but here she was, bringing it up. She must have heard someone in the village speaking of it, he thought, and it angered him that anyone would be so unkind and inconsiderate as to speak of it in her presence.

“Oliver?” Felicity looked him straight in the eyes, expecting a response.

He brought his other hand up to cup her other cheek. And as he now cradled her face in both his warm hands, with his intense gaze locked on to hers, he spoke resolutely and let her know that he meant every single word that came out of his mouth.

“Felicity, _you_ are my wife. My only one. That will never change.”

“But the custom…?”

“_If_ I have to, I _will_ walk away from the tribe. It will not be the first time,” he told her reassuringly. 

Oliver meant for her to understand that if it ever came to that, he would not think twice about choosing her. He had not even been considering that things between them would escalate to the point where the tribe would pressure him to get himself another woman who was capable of bearing his children. He was confident that Felicity would be their mother, convinced that she was his destiny and that nothing would ever come between them except death, which was inevitable in any person’s life. He was not being foolish; he knew that there would be no children unless they consummated their marriage, and they certainly were not there yet. But he was willing to wait for her for as long as it took, until she was ready to trust him with all of her – body and soul. And when, in time, she finally did and they still failed to conceive, he was sure that he had it in him to forsake the tribe a second time, for her sake. Better an outcast to the tribe than an infidel to the woman he now loved.

“That is where I stand,” he told her with conviction. “Do you understand?”

Felicity nodded, her face still cradled in his hands. She understood – not only the words he said, but also the sincerity of his commitment to her. She had just met him a week ago. Her family and friends back in Starling would tell her she was insane for falling in love with someone who was virtually a stranger. Yet she was persuaded that she’d be the biggest fool if she rejected such affection, such devotion that no man had ever demonstrated towards her. Time was not the consideration here. Trust was. And Felicity was ready to take that step.

She smiled sweetly and gazed affectionately at her husband. In response to his reassuring declaration, she held his forearms with both her hands and uttered the words he so longed to hear from her lips. 

_“Ay-ayaten ka.”_

Oliver gasped and suddenly let go of her face, pleasantly surprised by her words. He could hardly believe his ears. Ay-ayaten ka. How did she find out what those words meant? And when did she make up her mind that she was ready to say it to him? Those questions did not matter – not as much as the fact that she had already spoken the words with just as much earnestness as he had previously declared his love for her.

“Felicity?” He needed to be sure.

She took both his hands in hers, as she repeated softly, _“Ay-ayaten ka.”_

“Are you sure?”

She squeezed his hands, and then she wrapped her arms around his neck. Pushing up on her tiptoes, she reiterated even more tenderly, _“Ay-ayaten ka.”_   
Oliver wasted no time to grin, even though his heart was bursting at the seams with mirth. He could hardly contain himself. His hands found their way to her hips and he pulled her close to him.

_“Ay-ayaten ka.”_ He barely finished uttering the words as his lips captured hers in an ardent, passionate kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how was that? I know some of you have been waiting 20-some chapters for their first kiss. It would be nice to know at this point if you are still reading.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity bond even more deeply overnight. They discuss the attack and the schemes of the enemy.

“Oliver, when is the next harvest?” Felicity asked. 

She was tracing the scars on his torso with her fingers unawares, for she was deep in thought about something that had nothing to do with the physical marks of his prowess in warfare. Nestled in his embrace, she felt content and tranquil. But then again, her mind wandered back to the concern that had led them to this point in their relationship.

Oliver pulled her closer to him until the knot on her chest that kept her sarong together pressed against his left side. It delighted him beyond measure that she was this close and that he could feel her soft, smooth skin against his own. His right hand caressed her back, keeping it warm, as her head rested on his folded left arm. 

“Why do you ask?” he answered with another question, angling his head so that he could see her face.

Felicity looked up at him and replied, “I want to know how much time I have.” 

Oliver understood what she meant. 

After their talk and the first kiss that they shared, he had been pleasantly surprised when Felicity invited him to lie with her on her mat instead of him sleeping on his own mat on the other side of their single-room house. Since then, they had been snugly huddling next to each other, still unable to sleep even if it was already way past midnight. Both had been quite fondly engrossed with discovering how it felt like to touch and be touched, and to explore the sensations of intimate nearness. 

He had let her touch and trace the scars on his chest and arms. But he had loved it most when she had run her fingers through his long, unbraided hair and down his nape. He had winced when she’d accidentally touched his shoulder wound, and she had been quick to apologize for the discomfort, promising to avoid more carefully the parts of his body that had been injured by the poisoned darts. 

She, in turn, had allowed him to touch her bare shoulders and her arms, to hold her by the waist and pull her close to him as he nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck. He had felt her shiver as his breath tickled her skin, a tiny moan escaping her lips. Yet when his hand wandered down her hip and then found its way into the opening of her _sarong_ to grasp her thigh, he had felt her body tense up and stiffen. Gasping, she had suddenly stopped his hand right where it was. He had immediately sensed that she hadn’t been ready for more, but because he loved and cherished her from the depths of his soul, he had honored the boundaries she’d set for the time being.

Oliver answered her query. “We harvest rice sometime after the rains come. Big John told me before… in white man’s time, that is called Se… Sep…”

“September?”

“Yes, September.”

Felicity sighed, understanding that the next harvest was about four months away. She was glad that she had ample time to learn how to be intimate with her husband without any qualms or feelings of self-consciousness. In all honesty, she loved how he touched her face and her arms and her back. She loved being hugged by him, loved burrowing into his chest. She loved the feel of his warm hands on the back of her neck and how he stroked her hair ever so gently. She felt his passion for her, and it made her feel loved and wanted. But she had also felt shy and nervous, for she had never been with any man this way before. She knew that she would get there. All she needed was time.

As if he could read her thoughts in the silence, Oliver spoke with calm assurance, as he withdrew his hand from her thigh and touched her cheek with it. “Felicity, I can wait. If you need more time.”

She nodded, her cheek brushing against the skin of his upper arm. “Thank you. That is good to know,” she said, relieved. She ceased from drawing invisible circles on his chest and brought her hand up to touch the hand that held her cheek. 

“I want to… I do. But I need a little bit more time to get used to… _this._ This is really, really nice. _You’re_ nice. And warm. And sweet. And gentle. So uncharacteristic, especially for a warrior with a firm, strong body partly covered in tattoos. I’m sure everybody in the village knows how skilled your hands are with the bow and arrow, and knives, and spears, and other sharp and pointed sorts of things. But those women who have been counting on me to fail at giving you a child in two harvests’ time? I hope, none of them have ever had, or will ever have, the amazing pleasure of knowing how skilled those hands are when it comes to--”  
“Shh…” Oliver interrupted her rambling by putting his finger against her lips. “Felicity talks too much,” he said, turning to his side to face her. She opened her mouth to call him out on referring to her in the third person again, but he did not let her. 

Instead, he kissed her senseless, with all the fervor he had in him for his precious Felicity. When he pulled back a few inches from her face, he told her in his low, gravelly voice, “No other woman. Just you. Not before this. Not after.” 

A proud, satisfied smile blossomed on Felicity’s face upon hearing his words. If she hadn’t been convinced before that divine destiny had been at work to bring them together for a nobler purpose than what they each had imagined for themselves, then this intimate moment they shared that night was all the persuasion that she needed to trust him completely. 

Without second thoughts, she kissed him back with all the ardor in her soul. The way her body moved and yielded to her husband’s – it told him that waiting for some other time was no longer an option. His wife was willing for them to try, right then, right there. And try, they did. 

The smiles on their faces when they woke just before the crack of dawn, still in each other’s embrace, bore witness that they had, albeit somewhat awkwardly at first, indeed succeeded.

* * *

Oliver had always gotten up before Felicity did in the mornings. Yet even at the sound of the first rooster crowing, he had absolutely no desire to rise the next day. He preferred to stay on the mat, limbs entwined with his wife’s, just like their long, tousled hairs were tangled together. He wished he did not have to get up and start the day, and judging from the Felicity’s stillness in his arms, he was sure that she felt the same way.

He sensed that something was on her mind, though. Twice or thrice since she had awakened, he had felt her heave deep sighs. He couldn’t be mistaken, for her chest pressed against his own, and he could feel her breathing against his skin of his neck. He wondered what her mind was preoccupied with, and he guessed that it had something to do with their current predicament – that is, waiting out the threat on their lives by staying put in the village. 

Suddenly he remembered what he had intended to talk with her about when he came home last night. He had wanted to share with her the things he had learned from his father, the Chief, about Malcolm Merlyn and Yao Fei. He wanted to discuss with her what he, his father and half-brother had planned to do about the situation. So, wrapping his other arm around her to envelope her in his warmth, he spoke.

“I will not let anyone hurt you, Felicity. I promise.”

She pulled back a little to take a good look at her husband’s face. Her eyes implored him to keep his promise, as she believed he will. “Please don’t die trying to keep that promise. I’ll have no one if you do. I can’t lose you.”

“You will not lose me,” Oliver responded. “The God that you had spoken of… You can ask him to protect me? Protect us?”

“Yes,” she replied, nodding. “We can pray for safety and for courage to face the enemy.”

“Pray?”

“Mm-hmm… We can talk to God. Tell him what troubles us. Ask him for help. He listens.”

Oliver was confused. He asked, “But he did not listen to you. He did not help your father.”

Felicity was speechless for a while, reckoning how to respond to that. “Well,” she soon answered, “God does not always help the way we want or expect him to. That’s what my father used to say, and I believe he was right. If we could figure out exactly why and how God does what he does, then he wouldn’t be God, would he? I may not understand why he allowed my father’s life to be taken so soon, and so brutally, I might add. But I know two things. The first is that God still cares enough to protect me and to save my life from certain death.” 

Oliver nodded. “And the second thing?” he asked. 

She answered with certainty, “It's that he’s been using you to do just that.” 

Understanding and agreement set in as they smiled affectionately at each other. A few seconds later, they sealed it with a chaste kiss. 

When they broke the kiss, Oliver said, “Last night, I wanted to tell you some things.”

“What things?” she asked.

“Things my father and I talked about.”

“About the attack a few days ago?”

“Yes, and about Yao Fei and Malcolm Merlyn.”

“Did you learn anything new from your father?” she asked inquisitively, pulling away from him and lying on her side. She planted her elbow on the mat and supported her head with her hand. 

Felicity was still right beside Oliver, but he was somewhat disappointed that he had lost the warmth of her being pressed against his side. He focused instead on the things he had wanted to share with her.

Oliver proceeded to tell Felicity that Chief Muidatu had confirmed some of the things that he and she had discussed with Big John two days ago. First, the Chief had confirmed that Yao Fei had indeed become a renegade Kinanyao clan leader and warrior, who had allied himself with the foreigners numerous times when the price was right. The Chief had not been surprised that Yao Fei was responsible for the attack that nearly killed his favored son, and that he was working for someone like Malcolm Merlyn.

Malcolm Merlyn. The Chief had also confirmed that Merlyn was a powerful businessman and landowner and an influential politician that could not be trusted. The tribe’s leaders had long suspected Merlyn to be behind the “land-grabbing” in tribal territories, under the guise of shrewd “negotiations” in behalf of the colonial government, which had always turned out to be detrimental to the Kinanyao but beneficial to him. Unfortunately, they had never been able to prove this, considering that the natives could neither read nor write documents in English, a skill that was supposed to help them to communicate their grievances and accusations against the man to the officials of the colonial government. The Chief had added in disgust that, even if they did obtain proof of Merlyn’s crimes and deceitful schemes against the Kinanyao, the colonial government would never take the side of the tribe now, not when the current governor-general, a man by the name of Sebastian Blood, was among Merlyn’s closest friends.

With the information that Oliver had shared with his father, the Chief had been able to connect the dots and surmise certain things – things that Oliver agreed with. The Chief concurred with Oliver’s theory that Merlyn must have had Yao Fei murder him with poisoned darts out of revenge for the death of Merlyn’s son Thomas. Merlyn must have learned from witnesses on the day Oliver killed Thomas to save a tribal elder, that the warrior who had shot his son with arrows was a white man. Seeing Oliver in Christentown days ago, a white man clad in tribal gear, must have triggered his misguided quest for Oliver’s blood.

The Chief had also verbalized quite a convincing conjecture based on all the known facts and valid assumptions up to that point. It was logical to deduce that, since Merlyn had already identified that the white Kinanyao warrior that had killed his son was, in fact, John Diggle’s friend Asintado, the villainous landowner and politician must have also figured out that Asintado was none other than the late Governor-General Robert Queen’s son, Oliver, whose body had never been found in the carnage that the tribal warriors had left behind after the ambush fifteen years ago. If so, aside from avenging his son Thomas’ death, there was only one other plausible explanation why Merlyn would want to eliminate Asintado after discovering his existence: Merlyn himself must have been involved in the murder of Robert Queen, whether as a mastermind or as an accomplice, and now wanted to keep that secret safe by silencing the lone survivor of that ambush years ago.

Furthermore, a significant implication of that speculation was that the Kinanyao had been deceived and maliciously manipulated by Merlyn (and whoever his cohorts had been) to attack Robert Queen’s traveling party and execute the highest ranking official of the colonial government. The specific agendum for this treacherous assassination of Oliver’s father many years ago was still unclear to the Chief, but whatever it was, it was most certainly motivated by the lust for power and control. 

Revenge and greed were the reasons why Oliver’s and Felicity’s lives were in danger. Oliver could not have agreed more with the wisdom and discernment of his father, the Chief.

Felicity listened intently to Oliver’s narrations and explanations. She carefully analyzed the arguments and theories presented, and in the end, she found herself agreeing with him. In her opinion, however, one thing did not add up. And because it disconcerted her sufficiently, she couldn’t help but ask, “Oliver, do you think Malcolm Merlyn also had something to do with my father’s death?”

Oliver thought for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“Did your father ever consider that Merlyn might have had a hand in the ambush that killed my father?” she asked again, her voice trembling this time.

“My father did warn me that you are in danger. Just like me. Because you are my wife.” He paused to take a breath. “But I also think…”

“You think that if Merlyn had done it to your father and gotten away with it, he might have also done the same thing to my father, and now he’s getting away with it, too!” she emphatically suggested, completing the sentence for him.

“We don’t know for sure. And we don’t know why.”

“But my father was not some high-ranking government official, neither was he a business competitor or threat to Merlyn. He didn’t have a political agenda. He came to the island to help people, not make money. Why would Merlyn have him killed?”

“I don’t know. But we will find out. Somehow.”

“Do you think Merlyn wanted me killed in the ambush, too? Oh my… What if he did?” She immediately realized that answering those questions was moot and academic by now. Her thoughts brought her to the current threat, and she suddenly realized something. “Oliver, what if Merlyn figured out, when he saw me at Christentown, that I am the daughter of the Reverend Doctor Smoak, whom he had intended for the natives to kill, and that I had survived the attack? Maybe that’s why he had that hateful, despising look on his face when Big John introduced us. Merlyn is after _me,_ too!”

They had previously entertained the assumption that Merlyn wanted her dead as well, but now in the context of everything Oliver had just discussed with her, the thought that Merlyn was truly out to get her agitated and worried her even more, sending a cold chill down her spine. 

Oliver felt her shudder next to him, so he gathered her in his robust arms once more and held her close. “I told you. I will not let anything bad happen to you,” he comforted her.

“I know, and I trust you,” she acknowledged. “But are we just supposed to stay here in the village and hide? Let the enemy plot something sinister and just wait for them to come for us?”

“No,” Oliver replied. “My father says we have to act soon, before…”

“Before what?”

Before Oliver could answer her, they heard someone call out just outside the door of their house, emphatically pleading in between heavy panting. “Asintado! I need your help! Please!” 

It was Big John’s voice, loud and clear. Troubled.

Oliver closed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. His father had warned him last night that this would happen. Just when they thought that they were safe from immediate danger, the enemy had found a way to draw them out. At his good friend’s expense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you like this chapter? What did you think of the developments in Olicity's relationship and in the plot?
> 
> There are only two seasons in the Philippine islands - wet and dry. The rainy season begins in late May or June and ends sometime in October. Rice is harvested even during wet season, usually in mid-September, when the southwest monsoon is prevalent in the region. This is what I imagined for Kinanyaoan Island. At this point in the story, we are already approaching the start of the wet season. This was why Oliver yielded to his father's wish that they return to the village and live there. The second harvest would be in the dry season or summer, from March to May. So, technically, Felicity has barely a year to conceive based on my imaginary tribe's standards and custom.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Diggle badly needs Oliver's help, which requires him to leave the village...and Felicity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another minor character is introduced here, and I thought it would be nice to give him the name of someone who used to be one of the most vital members of Oliver's team in canon. ;-)

Felicity nodded, giving Oliver permission to get up and meet Big John outside their house. She didn’t want him to. But Big John was their friend, and he sounded like he desperately needed their help. It would take her some time to put on her usual clothes, so she made Oliver get up first to see to what Big John wanted so urgently.

Oliver kissed her chastely on the lips and slid out from under the blanket that covered them from the waist down. He stood up and grabbed his trousers to put it on, not bothering to wear his _bahag_ underneath anymore. 

Felicity blushed in admiration of her husband’s impressive uncovered frame, watching in the daylight as he put on his trousers quickly. The first time she had seen him with just his loincloth on, that night in the inn, she’d felt so awkward and shocked at the same time. It was different now. She looked at him now with pride and felt no shame, in the same way that she had felt nothing but mirth when Oliver beheld all of her for the first time in the faint glow of moonlight just a few hours ago. They had already been married, but it had taken them longer to earn the right to look at each other this way, with all the love and delight bursting from their hearts. How amazing it is to be married to someone like Oliver, she thought.

At the doorway, Oliver turned back to look at her, asking a second time if it was alright with her for him to leave. She smiled. He smiled. No words were needed.

* * *

By the time Felicity emerged from inside their _fale,_ Big John had already finished telling Oliver about the terrible news of Ms. Lyla Michaels’ suspicious and sudden disappearance. There was a white man with him, a younger man, whom he had introduced to them as Roy Harper, one of the hired hands at Lyla’s general store and inn. Roy had become John Diggle’s friend in the last couple of years. He had also been the one who had brought bad tidings from Christentown.

“Ms. Lyla has been missing for two days,” Roy had reported. “No one has seen her since she retired for the night the other day. No one saw anything, but her room upstairs… everything was a mess! We tried looking for her all over town to no avail. I tried to find you, Mr. Diggle, but the  
workers in the tobacco plantation said that you haven’t returned since you left so suddenly a few days ago.” The young man had paused to take a breath. 

Roy had climbed the mountains on foot. All throughout the night, he was looking for the Kinanyao village. The natives who were John’s co-workers in the Merlyn plantation had suggested that he would most likely find John there, since John himself had asked for directions from them to find the village in the mountains. For quite some time, Roy had had an inkling that John cared for his mistress in a special way; he believed John would help to find Lyla.

“Please, Mr. Diggle, you have to help us find Ms. Lyla. Without her, we can’t run the store and the inn. Everything she and her father have worked so hard for all these years would be lost,” Roy had begged.

When Felicity joined them, she easily construed what the trouble was just by listening to the conversation. She felt awful that someone else had been dragged into this huge mess just to draw Oliver, John, and herself out of hiding. She started to worry about Lyla’s safety, and to fret over the logical hypothesis that Malcolm Merlyn and Yao Fei were behind the intentional abduction of her new-found friend. From her own experience, she feared that this must be a harrowing experience for such a kind woman like Lyla, who had absolutely nothing to do with all of these.

“Do you think Lyla’s disappearance has to do with the present threat on our lives?” Felicity asked Oliver and Big John.

“Yes,” Oliver immediately answered. “My father warned me that this might happen. I tried to tell you… last night, but we…” 

His words came to a halt at the vivid remembrance of the night they had spent intimately together for the first time. Their gazes locked, and when she realized what her husband was referring to, she tried in vain to hold back the smile and the blush that quickly colored her face and neck. She bit her lip to keep herself from uttering a remark that might embarrass her (or him) unnecessarily.

John cleared his throat to clear the air and bring their conversation back to the urgent matter at hand. “Asintado, we have to find Lyla as soon as possible. Who knows what Yao Fei or Mr. Merlyn might do to her? At this point, they would do anything just to get us out in the open,” he pleaded. “I can’t find her and rescue her by myself. I need your help.”

“I will help you find Lyla,” Oliver replied.

“Yes, _we_ will help you bring her back,” Felicity concurred.

Oliver instantly spoke whilst shaking his head in disapprobation, “Felicity stays here. In the village. _I_ will go with you.”

“Felicity will not stay here. In the village. _She_ will go, too,” she spoke sternly, cringing a little upon realizing that she had just referred to herself in the third person – something that she herself had specifically taught Oliver _not_ to do when speaking. But she was not going to let them go without her. Lyla was now her friend, too. Of course, she wanted to help find their friend.

“No, you will not,” Oliver countered firmly.

“Yes, I will,” Felicity protested just as firmly.

“Please don’t make this hard, Felicity,” he requested, exasperation evident in his voice as the words came out in between clenched teeth.

“You’re the one that’s complicating things, Oliver. I just want to help.”

“I want you safe. And safe is here!”

“No! Safe is with you!”

John and Roy looked at the two of them, arguing as if they were playing an intense game of lawn tennis, an outdoor sport that was just beginning to be popular in their home country. Amused at the sight, the younger man wondered which of the two was going to win the argument. The older, darker man, on the other hand, knew that Felicity had a fighting chance, what with the way her hands were firmly anchored on her hips. She looked up at her husband as if it was she that was taller than him, and the way her voice thundered in remonstration told them that she was not backing down so easily.

Oliver closed the gap between him and his wife. He held both her shoulders and gazed down upon her with an intensity that was mixed with earnest affection. He lifted her chin so that she would look up at him, and when he saw his wife’s countenance, he knew that with just a little push, he was going to have his way. 

“Felicity, you _will_ stay here. Safe. I need you to be here when I get back,” Oliver said, his voice retreating from stern to sensitive in a graceful decrescendo.

“But I…” She stammered, hoping to say more, but Oliver kissed her, in a manner reminiscent of the night before, rendering her speechless for a while. 

Then, he whispered so that only she would hear, “My beautiful Blue Eyes, I love you. I will do my best to come back to you.”

“You promise?”

“Yes. If you promise to stay here until I come back.”

Felicity nodded and said, “Alright. I’ll stay.”

Oliver had been right. He had sensed that her insistence on joining the mission had not been just to help them find Lyla, but also to keep an eye on him. He had felt her anxiety and tension over _his_ safety, so he had thought it was wise to allay her fears and apprehensions.

He smiled at her like a parent rewarding an obedient child with candy or a toy. He pulled her in for a tight embrace. “I will ask Amihan to be with you. The warriors and the entire village will keep you safe,” he spoke near the back of her ear.

He felt her nodding against his chest, and he was relieved that his stubborn, headstrong wife finally acquiesced. He knew that they had better chances of finding Lyla faster if they didn’t have to constantly think of her safety along the way. He was surely going to miss her, but he’d rather miss her than see her get hurt or caught in the middle of a skirmish that might put her in danger. Before he claimed her to be his wife, the only reason he had tried to stay alive in the midst of battle or armed conflict was his desire to rediscover his identity and his roots. Now, his beautiful Blue Eyes was all the more reason to come back from possible danger in one piece.

* * *

In less than an hour, Felicity bid Oliver, Big John, and Roy farewell. They left the village and traveled down the Abu Mountains towards Christentown on foot. Good ole’ Starling was of no use because there was only one of him and three of them.

Chief Muidatu had offered to send a small contingent of Kinanyao warriors to escort them safely and protect them in case the search and rescue mission resulted in fighting against Yao Fei and Merlyn’s men. Oliver had declined, convinced that bringing along tribal warriors armed with native weapons might provoke the enemy or start a battle with the foreigners that they might not be able to come back from. He had also reasoned that the resulting bloodshed in an armed encounter might undermine future peace efforts that he might try to initiate between the tribe and the foreigners. Hesitantly, the Chief had let Oliver go to help John Diggle and Roy Harper find Lyla Michaels, praying to Kabunyan to keep his favored son safe and bring him back to the village alive and well.

Oliver had not left without having a short yet serious talk with his brother Wandatu. Oliver had made Wandatu swear by the gods of the Kinanyao to protect Felicity at all cost. “Brother,” he had said in their native language, “I know that you do not like me. And you do not like my wife. But I have but one request, and I am counting on you to fulfill it. If you do this, I will not ask you anymore for another favor. Please, keep my wife safe.” Wandatu’s face was emotionless, but he had indicated his willingness to do what Oliver had asked through the traditional hand gestures.

Before leaving Felicity with his sister Amihan, Oliver held his wife in his arms and tucked her blonde head under his chin. 

“Please be careful, Oliver,” she told him. “Find Lyla and come back to me. That’s all I ask.”

Rubbing his hand up and down her back, Oliver replied, “I will. Pray to your God for our safety. Pray that we will find Lyla in time. I will see you soon.”

_“Ay-ayaten ka,”_ she whispered, pulling back a little to look straight into his eyes.

_“Ay-ayaten ka.”_

* * *

Two full days had passed. Still, Oliver had not returned with Big John and Lyla. Chief Muidatu was worried. The elders of the clan and the warriors of the tribe were beginning to worry. 

Yet, no one in the entire village was more anxious than Felicity. She had not ceased praying to God to protect her husband and her friends, and to grant them success in their search and rescue mission. But even if her faith was strong, she also knew that sometimes, things did not go the way she wanted, just like it had with her father when he perished in the ambush that she had survived. There was a significant part of her heart that hurt, not knowing what was happening to the man that she had just learned to love and cherish. She had just begun to know him deeply, and she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life getting to know him even more deeply each day. 

Lord willing, she would also have his child – his children, preferably. She wanted this with all of her heart, and she prayed, too, that God would grant the desire of her heart before the second harvest comes. She had high hopes of this happening, especially now that she knew how pleasurable it was to be intimate with her husband. Thoughts of a little white boy, with blonde hair and blue eyes running around the village and playing with a miniature bow and arrow, helped to distract her from her worries. Perhaps their first child could be a girl. That mental image had made her smile more – the one where a little version of her could beat the other Kinanyao boys in an archery contest. If their first child would be a girl, Felicity wondered if the tribe would let their daughter become chief someday in place of Oliver.

The sound of crickets broke her wishful reverie. Felicity realized that Amihan had not yet come to fetch her for supper at the Chief’s house. Something must have delayed her sister-in-law, she thought. She went out of Amihan’s _fale_ to see if she was anywhere near, but it was already dark. She could not see very far with her naked eye.

She contemplated going ahead instead of waiting for Amihan. After all, she already knew her way around the village for the most part, especially down the dirt path that led to the Chief’s house. She and Amihan might even cross paths along the way. For a moment, she hesitated, noticing that there weren’t too many villagers passing by. If Amihan came for her from another direction, no one would be able to tell her sister-in-law that she had already gone to the Chief’s house. Deciding to just wait for Amihan, she turned back towards the house to sit on the steps and wait.

As Felicity approached the ladder that led up to Amihan’s house, someone sneaked up from behind her and grabbed her by the waist, dragging her to the back of the house, away from the view of anyone approaching from the dirt path. She struggled to break free and scream for help, but the stranger’s other hand quickly came up and covered her face with a damp cloth. The foul smell of the moist cloth disoriented her, causing her attempt at breaking free to fail. In a matter of seconds, Felicity felt herself fading away into unconsciousness.

The last thing she remembered thinking of was her husband’s name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that cliffhanger. I thought I'd spice up the sequence of the events in the plot line a bit.
> 
> 1\. If you recall, a "bahag" is a loincloth or a g-string worn by tribal men in northern Philippines to cover their private parts.
> 
> 2\. Notice in this chapter, Oliver has started to use a pet name for Felicity. He calls her Blue Eyes as a term of endearment, yet another reason why this fic has the same title.
> 
> 3\. The damp cloth used by Felicity's abductor was presumably dipped in a kind of herbal concoction, meant to sedate her.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what has happened to Oliver, John, and Roy - why Felicity hadn't heard any news about them while she waited anxiously in the village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire chapter is a flashback to two days before Felicity was mysteriously taken.  
I'd like to thank all of you who are still reading this, especially the Guests who are still following and clicking Kudos. You guys are awesome! We are now in the more exciting part of the story, moving towards the climax.

_Two Days Ago…_

  
The Merlyn property in the outskirts of Christentown – yet another piece of land that used to belong to one of the Kinanyao clans – was almost as huge as the one he had first owned in Paradise Point. Everyone in town knew that the only way Malcolm Merlyn could have been able to possess this much land on the northern side of the island was if he had been shown special favors by the ‘powers that be’ in the colonial government. The estate began half a kilometer away from Christentown proper, near the bank of the Kipot River, where an irrigation system had been constructed for Merlyn’s tobacco plantation. The plantation stretched across almost two hectares of land between the river and the foot of the Abu Mountains.

A large Mediterranean-type villa stood in the middle of the estate. It was the only one of its kind in the entire island. Its expansive terrace boasted of an impressive view overlooking the river with the pinkish-orange glow of the sunset in the horizon. The Merlyn family resided permanently in Paradise Point, but Mr. Merlyn regularly came to Christentown every other week to check on his property, his workers, and his land’s yield. Every once in a while, he brought his family along, and they stayed in the villa to relax and find some peace and quiet for a few days.

The living quarters of Mr. Merlyn’s trusted workers were situated near the stables, just a stone’s throw away from the villa. The living quarters of the natives, where John Diggle also lived, were further away, at the fringe of the tobacco fields. Mr. Merlyn wanted the natives to be near where they were supposed to work every day, effectively segregating his brown-skinned workers from the white-skinned ones.

The hills at the foot of the Abu Mountains were still part of the Merlyn property. They were already being terraced in preparation for the next rice planting season. Mr. Merlyn had already begun to venture into the planting and trading of the island’s staple crop, determined to compete with the produce of the natives and dominate rice production on the island.

Oliver, Big John, and Roy Harper had made it down the mountain just after high noon in record  
time. Yet instead of commencing their mission to find Lyla Michaels, they slowed down and rested in the forest outside of town. Aside from the fact that they were too tired from the hasty trip down the mountains, they also could not do much in the daylight in terms of search and surveillance without being spotted by townsfolk loyal to Malcolm Merlyn, who was, after all, the acting mayor of Christentown.

Roy had brought back unpleasant news hours later, coming back from his venture into town incognito. Lyla was still nowhere to be found. Furthermore, sketches of John Diggle’s face were already plastered everywhere in town as a wanted man, accused of stealing from Mr. Merlyn and then fleeing Christentown days ago. The increased number of armed guards roaming around town made their mission doubly difficult. It was proof that Mr. Merlyn really did have strong ties with the incumbent Governor-General Sebastian Blood; it was the only possible explanation for how he could have acquired additional military presence in so short a time, and under no real threat to the town’s security. 

Oliver and Big John did not stand a chance if they risked going into town, even if they disguised themselves as peasants. If they got caught, they knew they were done for. Malcolm Merlyn was not going to have them arrested to stand a fair trial in Paradise Point. Moreover, Roy persuaded them that Ms. Lyla was most likely not being held anywhere in town. On a hunch after overhearing some guards speaking of being deployed to the Merlyn estate, he suggested that she was being held there. So, Oliver and John decided that the best move was for them to wait until sundown before they begin surveying the Merlyn estate and decide on their next move.

* * *

“How many men?” Oliver asked Big John, who had just returned to their rendezvous point in the hillside forest at the edge of the Merlyn estate.

“It’s hard to tell. The living quarters aren’t heavily guarded, and there were only four armed guards at the stables. I counted six, maybe eight, armed guards stationed outside the villa. But who knows how many more are inside?” Big John replied.

“I have enough arrows,” Oliver declared, “but if there are more armed men inside the house, you may have to fight.” He looked at his friend, expecting a response.

“I can fight,” Big John said resolutely. John Diggle might never get the chance to have a happy life with Lyla Michaels because of cultural and economic restrictions, but he loved her enough to give his life for hers if the situation called for it. He only wished that, by now, Lyla somehow knew that this was the case.

“Any sign of Lyla?” Oliver asked again.

“No. But judging from the number of guards at the villa, I’m almost sure that’s where they’re keeping her,” Big John reasoned.

“Then that is where we need to search first,” Oliver said. “It’s a big house. Where could she could be?”

“Assuming Mr. Merlyn’s family members have nothing to do with Lyla’s kidnapping, I’d say she’d most likely be kept in the wine cellar. They could hold her there securely without his family or the maid knowing,” John surmised. Because he had worked for Mr. Merlyn for years, he had become very well-acquainted with the villa. He thought he can find his way to every nook and cranny with his eyes closed, including the cellar that was accessible only through the narrow hallway that isolated the study and the small library from the rest of the house.

“Agreed,” Oliver responded. “We find the safest way in and out of the cellar fast. You will take the lead, Big John.” 

“Very well. And Asintado? We will not take a life unless it is absolutely necessary,” Big John added, to which Oliver nodded his head in agreement. “We do not want to spark even more strife between foreigners and natives. If an all-out war ensues because we fail to handle this rescue mission well… God help us when all hell breaks loose.”

There was silence for a short while as the three men contemplated on the repercussions of what they were about to do. No one spoke out; each of them waited for another to voice out his approbation or disapprobation of the undesirable consequences of failure that night.

“What can I do?” asked Roy Harper, breaking the momentary silence.

“You will be the lookout, kid,” Big John answered. “Someone has to warn us if more enemies are approaching. The top of the water tank beside the stables gives the best vantage point. From there you can see almost everything in the estate, as far as the plantation.” 

Oliver handed Roy a bamboo whistle the size of a tobacco. “Here. Use this,” he told the young man. 

Big John added, “Two short whistles like bird chirps… to warn us that enemies are coming. One long and loud whistle… to tell us that we really need to get out of there fast. Got it?” 

Roy nodded affirmatively, and then asked, “When do we move?”

“We wait for the last candle to go out inside the house,” Oliver answered.

Big John frowned, and the two other men sense his trouble. “Asintado, the Merlyns use oil lamps in their room upstairs and in the study. Mrs. Merlyn puts out the light before retiring for the night, but Mr. Merlyn stays in his study until the wee hours of the morning. We might have to wait for hours.”

“Then we wait for hours,” Oliver said.

Big John nodded. He, too, did not want to risk encountering Malcolm Merlyn on their way to the cellar. It was wise to avoid such happenstance, as much as possible. Theirs was a rescue mission, not an intentional attempt at engaging the enemy.

“What about Yao Fei?” Big John asked.

Oliver shook his head as a low grunt sounded between clenched teeth. “I really hope we don’t have to see his face.”

“Because you’re afraid you can’t put the tribal-warrior-turned-assassin down?” Roy asked candidly.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed as he turned to look at Lyla’s naïve hired hand. “Because I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from killing that… traitor.” 

Roy did not dare ask another question or utter a remark. The tribal chief’s favored son was clearly upset at the mention of Yao Fei. While waiting for nightfall, John Diggle had briefed Roy about the important things they already knew about the villains who abducted his mistress. Asintado had been quiet, for the most part, speaking only when Mr. Diggle asked him a question. Roy had no idea that Asintado’s aversion for Mr. Merlyn’s accomplice ran more deeply and more intensely than dislike for an enemy.

“Then let’s hope that we don’t…” John remarked.

* * *

Big John had been right about the lights at the villa. Merlyn had spent hours in his study, and the oil lamp went out just a few hours shy of dawn. Oliver knew that they had to move quickly, before they lose the cover of darkness as the light of the rising sun gave them away. 

They knew that they were taking a huge risk, trespassing the Merlyn house without verifiable proof that Lyla was indeed inside. They also knew that they were most probably walking into a trap, since they speculated that Lyla’s kidnapping had been Malcolm Merlyn’s strategy to lure them out of the village and into an entrapment. But they had to find out. They had to find Lyla. They had to know if she was still alive.

The thought that Merlyn wanted Oliver dead for some twisted reason also bothered him, but he did not speak of it to the other two men. He did not want them sidetracked from the goal of finding Lyla and getting her out. The threat to his own life was very real, but he thought that he needed to bear that burden alone for the time being.

At Oliver’s signal, Roy ran and climbed up the water tank tower as quietly as possible, before any of the guards stationed at the stables rounded the corner to spot him. Oliver and Big John stealthily and hurriedly made their way to the villa. From behind the bushes, Oliver shot the two guards at the rear entrance to the house with arrows to the legs. The arrowheads were laced with mild toxins meant to sedate the victims. He and Big John moved the bodies and hid them behind the bushes. If they were quick enough, they could get in without the other guards spotting them. 

Yet as they emerged from the bushes, two more armed men came out of the back door. The two men were obviously puzzled that they two other comrades were not at their posts. One of them was about to go back inside to alert their master, but Oliver’s bow was at the ready. He pulled out a pair of toxin-laced arrows from his quiver, nocked them at the same time, and shot the two guards on their legs. The toxin acted quickly, and within a few seconds, both men were down on the ground.

After Oliver and John got rid of the bodies, they made their way into the kitchen through the back door, undetected. John took the lead. The large house was dark, yet within seconds, Oliver and John had already found their way to the narrow hallway that led to the library and the study. The library was empty, so they continued to moved down the hallway in brisk but light steps. 

Just before they reached the doorway to Merlyn’s study, a lone, hooded figure stepped out of the room and headed towards the door to the cellar at the end of the hallway. Even in the dark, Oliver could clearly see that the unidentified person was not a foreigner. In a split-second realization that the man most likely was Yao Fei, he took a step forward, raised his bow and let an arrow fly, directly aimed at the man’s back. As swiftly as the arrow flew, Yao Fei turned and caught it merely inches away from his neck. Oliver was taken aback. He knew that Yao Fei was a highly skilled warrior, but he hadn’t realized how skilled the man truly was. 

“You have to go, Big John,” Oliver muttered softly to his friend, who was standing rigid beside him. But John stood his ground.

Yao Fei pulled down his hood with one hand. “So, we meet again, Asintado. How is your father?” the man sneered.

Oliver did not get the chance to respond. Yao Fei flung the arrow in his hand back at him. Before he collapsed due to the effect of the mild toxin, he managed to mutter, “Big John, go.”

* * *

The morning light woke him. He had a splitting headache. When he tried to reach up to massage his temples, John realized that he was bound at the waist to a wooden post, in sitting position. His hands were bound behind him around the post. His feet were bound with _abaca_ ropes as well. He opened his eyes and saw that he was in a stable. He felt the moist path of blood that dripped from a cut near his hairline, and then the memories from last night started coming back to him.

“John.” A woman’s voice called to him. There, tied to another wooden post to his left side was Lyla Michaels.

“Lyla… Are you… Are you alright?” John asked her.

“Yes. Bound and tired, but yes. I’m fine,” Lyla replied with a small smile. The bruising near the corner of her lips told John why she couldn’t smile any wider like she usually did when they saw each other, and this angered him. “You?” she asked him.

“Despite the headache and the bleeding cut on my head, I’m thankful to still be alive,” he answered. “I’m even more thankful to see that _you’re_ alive,” he added. His voice was warm and kind, reflecting how concerned he was for her safety.

“Did you get in trouble because you decided to act like a hero and come for me?” Lyla inquired, sighing heavily after. She already knew that his answer was yes.

“Do you really have to ask? You are my friend. Of course, I’d come looking for you,” John replied. He wanted so much to tell her that she was more than just a friend to him, but he stopped himself. They were in a predicament that did not allow for him to express his true feelings for her.

Despite the painful bruise near her lips, Lyla managed a bigger smile. It was the least she could do, under the circumstances, to show him how grateful she was that he had indeed come for her.

John proceeded to tell Lyla everything – from how Roy had hiked up the mountain to find him in the Kinanyao village to ask for his help, to the details about Malcolm Merlyn’s evil schemes against the Kinanyao. John told her that Malcolm had been working with the mercenary Yao Fei all along, a fact that Lyla was quick to corroborate because of her recent past experience. Although Lyla had already been suspicious of Merlyn’s shady character and dubious activities for some years, she was still shocked that the businessman who was supposed to be the leader and protector of their town had been capable of having people killed all this time. Upon realizing what kind of man Mr. Merlyn truly was, she began to wonder if Merlyn had something to do with the Great Plague that had taken so many lives on the island some years ago, back when she was younger.

“Where is Roy now?” Lyla asked.

“I do not know. I can only hope that he had made it out when Asintado and I failed to come out of the villa.”

“And our friend, Asintado?”

John closed his eyes in disappointment. Even with his eyes shut, he could still see how Yao Fei had flung the arrow at his friend’s chest. He hated to think about what may have happened to Asintado. Asintado had told him before that Yao Fei never missed his targets. If Merlyn had wanted him dead some days ago, sending Yao Fei to murder him in the jungle, then surely Merlyn would have accomplished his aim already, now that Yao Fei had subdued him. His head hung low in sorrow at Lyla’s inquiry.

“I’m so sorry, John. Asintado was a good friend,” Lyla comforted him upon seeing his response to her query. Somehow, she knew that John was mourning the loss of their friend.

“It’s not your fault, Lyla. None of this is your fault.”

“Merlyn used me to get to you. And now… now our friend is…” She couldn’t bear to speak of it. Tears rolled down her cheeks at the thought that they had most likely already lost their friend. She also remembered Felicity, and she felt even more mournful that such a delightfully spirited, kind-hearted soul caught in the middle of compounded conflicts between races, had been widowed too soon.

* * *

Unbeknownst to them, Oliver lay unconscious in the villa’s wine cellar – his hands and feet bound by ropes, and his mouth gagged with cheesecloth. He was wounded. His bow and quiver had been taken from him. Not even the cold stone floor of the cellar that pressed against the skin of his bare, bleeding chest had awakened him. And even if he woke up that morning to the sounds of human activities inside the busy household, no one would hear his muffled cries for help from underneath.

The only pleasant consolation that his insentient condition gave him was that he had dreamt of his _Blue Eyes_ more than once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading. Share your thoughts on where the story is headed?
> 
> Spanish-type houses and villas are everywhere in the Philippine islands, mostly in the cities that used to be bastions of the Spanish colonial government, like Manila, Vigan City of northern Luzon island, Legazpi City in the Bicol region, Cebu City in the Visayas region of central Philippines, and Zamboanga City in the southern region of Mindanao. But for this fic, I imagined Malcolm Merlyn living in a Mediterranean-type villa overlooking the river with a view of the setting sun in the horizon. I don't know, I just thought Malcolm was the type that would favor such over the Spanish kind.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected, intriguing person wakes up Oliver. And Felicity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the plot becomes even more interesting as we approach the climax. Once again, thank you to all of you who are still reading this. And special thanks to all the Guests that have clicked Kudos and are still following this. Love you all!

The young Ms. Merlyn was a spirited fourteen-year-old who, at times, was too stubborn for her own good. Ever since the young lady had discovered how pleasurably palatable red wine was last year when she attended the debutante’s ball of Governor-General Blood’s daughter, she had always anticipated the occasional visits to her father’s Christentown estate, where there was a wine cellar that she could slip into undetected to sample one of her father’s choice collections. She had already decided that the best ones were those from France and Italy.

Very early in the morning before the rest of the household awakened, she had already tried her luck. However, she was frustrated to find that the door to the cellar had been locked. She had thought it strange, for this had never happened before. But she dismissed it, begrudgingly. She would have tried to pick the lock with one of the pins holding her hair up in a messy bun, but she heard footsteps rounding the corner and approaching the hallway, so she hastily retreated to the library and pretended to read in the faint light of dawn coming in through the windows.

But in the afternoon, Mrs. Merlyn was preparing steak for dinner and had ordered her, instead of the maid, to fetch a bottle of her father’s Burgundy vintages. It was one of the rare instances when she did not complain or grumble at having to comply, which, of course, had pleasantly surprised her mother. When she told her mother that she might need the key to the cellar, Mrs. Merlyn had been surprised once again, not so pleasantly this time. Despite suspicions of why she would think the cellar was locked and perplexity as to why the cellar would be locked, her mother had given her the spare key. 

She happily sauntered to the cellar, and she became twice as happy to find that there was no one in the hallway. She could easily take two bottles and hide one in her room before returning to the kitchen to complete her errand.

She closed the door behind her and descended the steps carefully. There was still some light coming in through the small windows on the wall near the bottom of the steps, but she did not want to miss a step and stumble downwards where it would take some time before someone would find her. The wooden boards creaked, and if she wasn’t so excited for another bottle of wine for herself, she would have found the squeaky sounds creepy and scary. She reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to the first row of wine bottles where the Burgundy vintages were stored. The sight that she stumbled upon startled her, making her gasp and take a step back.

Someone lay unconscious on the cold stone floor. 

She contemplated running back to tell her mother what she found, but something inside her kept her from doing so. (It could have been due to plain curiosity, or it could be blamed on her propensity to take risks since childhood, causing her to have been involved in an accident or two that nearly gave her mother a heart attack.) 

It took her a few seconds to assess whether or not the person lying so still was a threat to her and her family’s safety. But what could an unconscious man do? For all she knew, the person could be alive and needed help. Choosing to find out more about this stranger in their cellar, she took slow, tentative steps towards the man. 

She was sure that he was a man, despite the long, braided hair. No woman would be lying on the floor shirtless and wearing trousers. What intrigued her as she drew nearer to observe the seemingly lifeless body, was that the man had sandy blonde hair and light-colored skin like her own, in spite of the obvious fact that he had tribal-patterned tattoos and several scars on his arms and torso. Who could this man be? Maintaining a fairly safe distance from the unconscious yet intriguing person in front of her, she knelt down and looked at him more closely. 

The man was lying on his chest, but a scarlet fluid that looked like blood was seeping from underneath him on the floor. He was wounded, possibly dying. Why would a wounded, tribal, white man be here? Was this why the door of the cellar had been locked earlier? Someone must have put him here, and if so, why? She was sure that her mother did not have the slightest idea that this stranger was here; otherwise, her mother wouldn’t have sent her down here alone. She loved solving mysteries, and now that she had found one, she knew that she couldn’t just walk away from it.

She stared at him some more. Was he alive? She moved one foot closer and reached forward to feel for a pulse at the side of his neck. But before her fingers made contact with his skin, the strange man stirred. She was startled a little, but not frightened. 

When the man slowly opened his eyes, she calmed down. Those eyes calmed her for some reason. Even in the dim light, she could see that his eyes were so blue that she could not deny his race of origin that seemed to have been masked by his tribal appearance.

The man blinked a few times to clear his vision. When he made out the silhouette of a petite woman crouching down on the ground in front of him, he tried to speak. Yet because his mouth was gagged with a strip of cloth, speaking was a struggle.

She pulled down the cheesecloth, and as soon as his mouth was free, he uttered slowly and softly, “Felicity?”

She shook her head and said, “No. My name is Thea.”

“Thea…?” 

“Yes. You are in the cellar of the Merlyn villa.”

The man closed his eyes, and his forehead crinkled in confusion. He tried to lift himself with his forearms and elbows, but with his hands and feet tied up in _abaca_ rope, he only succeeded in shifting his position such that he lay on his side. “Ugh…” he groaned. He was in a lot of pain.

“You’re hurt,” she said. “You need help.”

She was about to stand up and get someone to help, but he stopped her from doing so. “No. Please, don’t go.” The fact that he spoke some English was, to her, an advantage.

“Who are you? And why are you here?” she asked the stranger. 

“I can’t tell you who I am. But I need _your_ help. I need to find someone,” the man replied.

It puzzled her why she wasn’t afraid of this stranger. She should be scared that there was a stranger in their cellar, and she should be screaming for help, but no. Something in his ocean blue eyes and the way he pleaded with her, told her that she was not in any real danger.

“Please, untie me,” he requested.

Her eyes narrowed at him. “How can I be sure that you won’t hurt me?”

“I am not here to hurt you.”

She looked him straight in the eye and asked, “Can I trust you?” 

“Yes, you can trust me,” he answered with certainty. And she believed him.

She had no reason to trust him. All he had given her was his word. She knew what her parents would say. She knew that what she was about to do did not make sense at all. Nevertheless, she still did it. She would worry about the consequences later. After all, this was not the first time she had done something that she might regret. She just could not shake off the feeling that the bleeding stranger (who looked more like a tribal warrior despite the colors of his eyes, hair, and skin) was the victim here, and not a captured and bound villain.

That, plus the other feeling deep down in her heart that he and she – for some strange reason – shared an inexplicable connection. And she wanted so much to understand what it is.

* * *

Felicity was grateful for the reprieve. Wandatu had decided that they could rest near the Kipot River, just as they approached Christentown. They’d been walking for hours since he had woken her up from her herbal-induced slumber, and her feet were killing her. Her arms were sore, what with her hands tied behind her back since they began their trek down the mountain. She had never before thought how difficult it was to maintain one’s balance while walking on rugged terrain in such a posture, but now she did, and she did not like it one bit. 

Worse, her mouth had been gagged with a thin piece of ethnic cloth. Apparently, Wandatu did not have the same amount of patience to put up with her whining and her unlimited supply of words like Oliver did. She had woken up at sunrise outside the village somewhere in the thick of the jungle, and as soon as she had realized where she was, and who had taken her, her barrage of questions and protests had begun. Wandatu had used the ethnic cloth that had adorned his braided hair to secure her mouth, thereby silencing her for the entire journey.

Wandatu made her sit on a log facing the river. She complied effortlessly, too tired to resist. When she was somewhat comfortably seated, he removed the rope that bound her hands. Then, he gestured with his finger near his mouth, telling her that he wanted her to be quiet. When she nodded in understanding, he removed the cloth that had been hindering her from speaking for hours. She took a nice, deep breath through her mouth, and then she tried to exercise her jaw, massaging her facial muscles with her now free hands.

Felicity wasn’t sure if he would understand her, but just the same she said, “Thank you.” Wandatu seemed to have understood her because he bowed slightly without saying a word. Nonetheless, the man remained impersonal and unfriendly, even when he gave her some water to drink and a couple of boiled eggs to eat. Felicity was still thankful, wondered how her mean brother-in-law (who obviously did not like her) could show a hint of kindness despite the indifference. She also wondered why he would do such horrid things as to drug and kidnap her, when it was now evident that he was perfectly capable of being a civilized human being after all. If he had wanted to take her some place, couldn’t he have just asked her nicely to come with him? Apparently not. At least, he hadn’t killed her. Not yet, she supposed. 

Maybe he was doing it for someone else, and he was about to deliver her to the person who really wanted her alive. Maybe she was his bargaining chip – for what purpose, she was entirely clueless. Then again, he may have been part of this grand deception all along, and Felicity was willing to bet her life that the mastermind behind all these tragic and mind-boggling mysteries was none other than Malcolm Merlyn. If that was the case, then maybe Wandatu wasn’t really a nice person, even if he had treated her somewhat humanely for the past several hours. He had bound and gagged her, but he did not hurt her in any way.

Felicity decided to withhold judgment as to Wandatu’s motives and his role in all of this until she got more information. And that was exactly what she did next, no matter how challenging it was to communicate with someone who spoke in a different tongue.

“Wandatu, why are you doing this?” she dared ask him. She lifted her hands for him to see the abrasive marks made by the _abaca_ rope. “Why did you…” She gestured at him with her hand. “…take me?” And then she placed the same hand on her chest. 

The moment she felt the beads and the pearl of her wedding necklace make contact with the palm of her hand, she remembered Oliver. (She had worn the necklace when Oliver had left with Big John and the young Mr. Harper, swearing to herself that she would not take it off until her husband returned safely.) She felt a sudden surge of worry for her husband, causing her eyes to well up with tears. Would she ever see Oliver again? How would he even know that she had gone missing? She took a deep breath to compose herself, and then she asked Wandatu the same two questions again, more slowly this time.

Wandatu appeared to have understood her somehow, if the expression on his face was any indication. His countenance looked less stoic, less fierce. But he simply looked down, not knowing what to say. Felicity sensed that he was at a loss for words, and her brilliant mind struggled for some time, trying to find a solution to the impending breakdown in communication. There had to be a way for them to talk.

Felicity picked up a smooth, round pebble and placed it on the ground. “This,” she said, pointing to the pebble with her finger, “this is me, Felicity.” Wandatu nodded once. 

She looked around for another pebble but found a bigger, rough stone instead. “This one,” she said, putting it down right beside her pebble, “is Asintado, your brother, my husband. Asintado. Yes?” she asked him to make sure he understood. Wandatu nodded again. 

She took a broken twig and placed it in front of the pebble and the stone. “And this,” she said, pointing to the twig, “this is you, Wandatu.” He pointed to the twig and said, “Wandatu.” Felicity exhaled through her mouth, quite satisfied at their progress.

She separated the stone from the pebble and the twig and said, “Asintado left the Kinanyao village three days ago.” She pointed to the mountains behind them. “Asintado has not come back.” She then put the pebble and the twig closer together. “Wandatu took Felicity. Right?” she asked, making sure he was following.

Wandatu replied, _“Wen.”_ “Yes?” Felicity asked, and he replied with the same word, _“Wen.”_

Now they were getting somewhere. Felicity remembered Oliver teaching her that _wen_ meant yes, and that _ha-an_ meant no. That boosted her confidence. She could play a game of ‘twenty questions’ with him all day until she got some answers that would help her figure out what was going on. She just hoped that Wandatu would not get irritated so easily and dismiss her line of questioning before she got them.

She pressed on. She tried moving both the pebble and the twig towards the stone that represented Oliver and asked Wandatu, “Is Wandatu taking Felicity to Asintado?” 

His forehead crinkled, and immediately she sensed that he wasn’t following. “Is Wandatu taking Felicity to Asintado?” she repeated. He shook his head vigorously and said emphatically, _“Ha-an!”_ His loud voice made her flinch a little, but she did not let him scare her.

“_Ha-an?_ Then where are you taking Felicity?” she clarified, picking up the pebble that represented herself.

Wandatu hastily snatched the pebble from her hand and put it back beside the twig that represented himself. _“Ha-an.”_ He moved the pebble and the twig together towards a reddish rock, one that was jagged on the edges. _“Wandatu ken Fe-li-ci-ty, mapan kami ken Yao Fei.”_

Felicity gasped at the mention of the native assassin’s name. She may not have understood every word of what Wandatu said, but the name Yao Fei did not stand for anything remotely good. Had Wandatu been working with Yao Fei all this time? What was his relationship with the notorious traitor? What nefarious scheme had he been a part of? 

With all his personality flaws and less than comely traits, Wandatu had always seemed loyal and committed to his clan, his tribe. Oliver and the Chief trusted him. And yes, her brother-in-law had never liked her from the beginning. He had even attempted to burn her at the stakes to replace the life of the warrior Kai, his good friend. But was he really so evil as to hand her over to an enemy of the tribe, to the very person who had tried to kill his own half-brother? Was it possible that his long-standing jealousy of Oliver and his deep-seated hatred for the foreigners had driven him to ally himself with Yao Fei, and perhaps even with Malcolm Merlyn? It didn’t make sense! How could he have betrayed the Kinanyao this way? Maybe he was some sort of spy, or maybe… Maybe Wandatu had an agenda of his own. 

These unanswered questions troubled Felicity greatly. She also did not know whether or not she should be frightened of Wandatu now. Most of all, she missed Oliver all the more. She missed having to deal with trouble by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? I hope you liked the way Thea was introduced as a supporting character. As I was writing this before, I aimed to get to this point in the plot line. There were so many implications for the existence of Thea in this story - both in the past and the future.
> 
> What is your impression of Wandatu? Why do you think he took Felicity and plans to bring her to Yao Fei?
> 
> Translations:   
wen = yes   
ha-an = no   
Mapan kami ken Yao Fei = We will go to Yao Fei.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wandatu feels conflicted. Felicity meets Yao Fei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter begins from Wandatu's POV, and we get to understand where he is coming from. Then later on it shifts to Felicity's POV.

The sun was setting. Wandatu thought that it was the perfect opportunity to approach the outskirts of Christentown and make it to the abandoned military outpost where he had agreed to meet Yao Fei. A savage-looking Kinanyao warrior like him couldn’t risk being seen with a white woman, especially one who was bound and gagged. Townsfolk, including the more “civilized” natives, would immediately notify the authorities. If he and his half-brother’s foreign wife moved now from where they had been resting by the river, they would get there by the time it was dark.

So, without much ado, Wandatu motioned for Felicity to stand. He bound her hands behind her back once again with the rope, this time a tad bit loose. For some unfathomable reason, he did not want to add to the scratches that the coarse fibers had already left on her wrists. He also decided against bridling her mouth with his multi-colored cloth; instead, he gestured with his finger that she stay speechless the rest of the way, or else he would be forced to gag her again. “Thank you” were the last two words that Felicity spoke, addressed to him. The small, yet grateful smile on her face made him strangely uncomfortable.

Wandatu could not understand what was happening to him. He was supposed to hate her, and he had, just like he hated every white-skinned man or woman whom he thought was part of a large-scale, sinister plot to annihilate his race and take over the island that they had called home for generations. From the moment he had spied her blonde head peeking out of the window of the overturned carriage, he had begun to despise her. 

Yao Fei had told him in one of their clandestine meetings in the last full moon that a male doctor and a female teacher – both foreigners – were expected to arrive in Paradise Point last week and would be traveling to Christentown with a small contingent of military escorts. They were supposed to establish a clinic and a schoolhouse for Kinanyao children in the town, but Yao Fei had warned him that the foreigners responsible for spreading the Great Plague many years ago had also come in the name of charity, but under false pretenses. 

Yao Fei had also hinted that the supposedly well-meaning physician was most probably also a spy for the colonial government and possessed the know-how to spread another contagious disease that would wipe out the native population in their part of the island. Just like what had happened in the southern part of the island where Paradise Point had been established, a huge part of the ancestral lands near Christentown had already been seized by a wealthy businessman, who had been planting tobacco for a few years now. Rumor had it, this plantation owner by the name of Malcolm Merlyn was starting to terrace the hillside for rice production that will rival that of the natives, thereby monopolizing the rice trade on the island. For those combined reasons, Wandatu had believed Yao Fei. He had even thanked the renegade clan leader, boasting that he could rally a group of warriors from his clan to make sure that the doctor and the teacher never made it to Christentown. He had believed that what he was doing was for the ultimate good of the tribe.

During the ambush, however, his friend Kai had shown mercy to the blonde-haired young woman. She had been shaken and shocked when Kai safely led her out of the overturned carriage, trying to appear brave and unaffected by the carnage around her but failing to hold back the tears when she saw her father’s lifeless, bleeding body. In the thick of battle, he and Kai had argued vehemently about keeping her alive, and it was during their altercation that Kai had been shot with a pistol once in the chest and another in the head. The arrow that he had aimed in the direction where he thought the shot had come from had been too late to save his friend, and he had always blamed her for Kai’s untimely and unheroic demise. He couldn’t kill her right then, in honor of his friend’s choice, so he had set aside his wrath for the time being, resolute in bringing her back to the village for everyone to condemn. She would die in the hands of the elders for all the villagers to see, and Kai’s death would be atoned for, according to the existing laws of the tribe.

But after everything Wandatu had heard from Asintado, which their father the Chief had corroborated during their private meeting three nights ago, he had begun to doubt whether or not he was truly on the right side of justice. Their father had called Yao Fei a traitor and a collaborator with foreign invaders, and with the new information coming from Asintado that Yao Fei was working with Malcolm Merlyn, Wandatu could not deny the bitter truth that he had been seriously and regrettably mistaken all these years. 

Wandatu had spent the last couple of days struggling, agonizing over the truth. First, he had resented his father for not trusting him with vital information known only to the Chief and the elders. And now that Asintado had returned to the village and taken his rightful place as favored son, the Chief divulged everything they knew about Yao Fei and the foreigner called Merlyn, just like that. Why had his father kept all this from him all throughout the time when it was he that had remained by his father’s side to defend the tribe? His bitterness against his father had pained him and robbed him of sleep in the last couple of days. His jealousy towards Asintado had been rekindled.

Second, he had struggled to believe everything he had learned about Yao Fei and to accept that he had been wrong all along. A few years ago, Yao Fei had first reached out to him a few days after Asintado had left the village to live in the jungle alone. The tribal warrior-and-clan-leader-gone-rogue had told him that they could work together to protect the interests of the tribe, saying that Chief Muidatu’s judgment was already clouded by his blind faith in the prophecy that Asintado was favored by the gods to one day rule the tribe. At that time, Wandatu couldn’t agree with Yao Fei more. But on hindsight, clearly Yao Fei had deceived him. Used him. That had angered him beyond measure.

How much white men’s blood had he spilt on the basis of that traitor’s malice and lies? Wandatu was a nobleman and a warrior, and he only killed for honor and in the defense of his people. The only way for him to live with himself now is to right his wrongs – which was why he had reached out to Yao Fei, sending out a messenger bird, to arrange a secret meeting at the abandoned outpost at sundown today. 

Wandatu would demand that Yao Fei tell him the truth about everything, especially about who was really behind the Great Plague that had taken the lives of his first wife and unborn child. Offering Asintado’s white-skinned wife would be his bargaining move. He was sure that Yao Fei and this man called Merlyn would find such a bargain hard to resist. Felicity was obviously valuable to them, and he found no consolation in finding out why; he merely wanted to exact vengeance on those responsible for murdering his people, including his first family. Nonetheless, he wasn’t really going to hand Felicity over to Yao Fei. Once he gets the whole truth, he was going to kill the traitor and bring her back to the village. He was going to keep her safe, just as he promised his father and his half-brother. 

Felicity. She was another thing that Wandatu had struggled with in the past few days. Perhaps Kai had been right all along to spare her life. There was just something about her, and for a while he had envied his half-brother for having found such a wife. Oime may have given him children, but she was a terrible woman, and he regretted every day having taken her as his second wife. 

For Wandatu, Felicity was beautiful and bold, although he also thought that she would do well to learn how to bridle her mouth and tame her tongue. She was kind, friendly, and very intelligent, just like his beloved first wife Mempe. He had been observing her in the village, and he had seen that she had never behaved like she saw herself as superior to his people, unlike most foreigners that he had previously encountered (and killed). He had already figured out that she must have been the teacher who was supposed to help Kinanyao children how to read and write, and he was beginning to think that she would have succeeded at it, if things had turned out differently for her and her father. 

Felicity did not deserve death. She had come to help his people, and Wandatu was going to right his wrongs by making sure that she gets a second chance to do what she had come to the island to do in the first place. Wandatu believed that this would also honor the memory of his best friend Kai, as well as redeem himself from the shame of having been a willing yet ignorant pawn of the despicable Yao Fei. Whether or not his father would begin to see him as an honorable son, he knew that he would still be able to live with himself after he rights his wrongs.

* * *

Wandatu and Felicity reached the abandoned outpost just as the moon began to glow in the darkened sky above. Certain that there was no one else in the area but them, he opened the rickety door. When they had gone a few steps into the shabby structure, an oil lamp was turned on at the far end of the room.

“It’s nice to see that you haven’t lost your touch, Wandatu,” Yao Fei remarked in their native language. “You delivered.” The man’s face was still shrouded in the shadows underneath his hood, and yet it was evident in his voice that he was pleased to see Wandatu bring him Asintado’s wife.

Yao Fei stood up from the only chair in the room and put the oil lamp down on a dusty table. He approached the pair, but stopped halfway in the distance between them, his left hand noticeably clutching his bow tightly and his right hand at the ready to reach for his quiver. His posture alone betrayed that he did not trust them at all. Yao Fei was a clever man and a highly competent warrior.

Wandatu remained undaunted. “I always deliver, Yao Fei. Unlike you, I’m a man of my word,” he said, his words laced with sarcasm.

Yao Fei heaved a sigh and responded, “Wandatu, my friend--”

“We are no longer friends,” Wandatu cut him off. “You used me… made me believe all those lies… for years now. You are a traitor to your people, a shame to your ancestors. The gods will repay you for your betrayal.”

Yao Fei glared at Wandatu. “I will not be judged by you. I believe that despite your anger towards me, your anger for the white race burns more fiercely still. We are no different, you and me. We have both shed blood, innocent and not. We both yearn for power, significance, approval. Isn’t that what you’ve been searching for all your life, Wandatu? The very things that your own father has denied you of.”

“You know nothing about me!” Wandatu exclaimed.

“I know enough,” Yao Fei replied. “That is why I agreed to meet you one last time, even if I know that you did not come here just to trade this woman for the truth,” he scoffed. 

“I demand to know the truth!” shouted Wandatu, nocking an arrow and pointing it at Yao Fei. “Tell me who was behind the Great Plague!”

Yao Fei stood still, unperturbed by Wandatu’s threat. “You are in no position to demand anything of me! Your courage is impressive, but it will not get you what you came here for.”

At that moment, several armed men came out of the shadows and pointed their pistols at Wandatu and Felicity. Wandatu put down his bow. He knew he was outnumbered, five to one. His plan had failed, but he was hoping to come up with another way out of this trap, while they hadn’t decided to kill him yet. He really should have known better.

Yao Fei ordered Merlyn’s men to disarm, bind, and gag Wandatu, but not before he struck him on the face with his bow first, knocking the brave warrior down and out. He then approached Felicity, his contemptuous face causing her chest to constrict. He ran his gloved fingers down the side of her face, sending shivers down her spine. All she could do was squirm in a feeble attempt to break free from the tight hold of one of his men.

“Get your filthy hands away from me!” Felicity yelled. She was grateful that Wandatu had opted not to gag her earlier. 

Yao Fei arched an eyebrow at her protest. “It is good to see you again, Ms. Smoak, especially this close. I have only had the pleasure of beholding such a blue-eyed beauty from afar,” he began to speak, surprising Felicity that he knew how to speak fluently in English. 

“What do you want with me?” she asked. She tried to maintain a façade of bravery and composure, but tears were beginning to well up in her eyes – tears of anger and anxiety.

“Oh,_ I w_ant nothing to do with you, Ms. Smoak. In fact, you should have already died in the ambush along with your father, the preacher and physician.” Yao Fei spoke arrogantly, almost as if he was intentionally pushing her to her limits. The man palpably found fearful, terrified victims on account of him quite amusing.

“You… You killed my father! And all those innocent, courageous soldiers who gave their lives to protect us! You are a monster!” Felicity screamed. Sadly, the town was about two miles away, so no one could really hear her cries from there. “Why?! What did we ever do to you to deserve such a cruel fate?” 

Yao Fei circled her like a predator marking its territory, and said, “I have no interest in revenge, Ms. Smoak. I do what I do to survive, comfortably so.”

“I think what you mean is that you betray your tribe and kill people professionally, for money and power,” Felicity accused him. 

“Who doesn’t live for money and power?!” Yao Fei raised his voice at her, causing her to flinch. “There is a new age dawning in this part of the world, if you hadn’t been as observant as you ought to be. The strong will rule, and the weak… Well, let’s just say that I refuse to be on the wrong side of the conflict. And to do that, I have to ally myself with the powers that be.”

“And by that, you mean Malcolm Merlyn, don’t you?” she asked. “I have no doubt that he was behind the attack that almost killed my husband a few days ago, and that he was responsible for the ambush that killed his father, the former Governor-General Robert Queen, fifteen years ago. It wouldn’t be inconceivable to think that Mr. Merlyn was also the mastermind behind the scheme to murder me and my father. What I still do not understand is why. Why did he want us dead?”

Yao Fei let out a sinister laughter and replied, “You can ask him that yourself. You know, between you and me, I would have finished the job that Wandatu had failed to accomplish, if the warrior Kai had not interfered and spared your life. I had no choice but to kill him,” Yao Fei confessed arrogantly, shrugging his shoulders with a sigh.

“Then why am I still here if I’m supposed to be dead already?” she asked him.

“Plans have changed,” he replied with a scornful smirk. “I’m willing to wager that there are at least three men who have been anxious to see you these past couple of days. Although, I must admit, I’m loyal to only one of them. I can’t blame them, though. You do have pair of lovely limbs inside that skirt of yours.”

Felicity was taken aback at that upsetting remark. Had this fiend indeed seen what he claimed to have seen? When had he? She took deep breaths, but nothing worked to calm her nerves. She was in trouble. So much trouble. And this time, Oliver was not there to protect her.

Yao Fei ordered his men to bind Wandatu and to wake him up. She knew that they were about to leave. Where to, she had an inkling. The only two things she looked forward to in being taken captive at the Merlyn estate were: one, that she would get the truth from Mr. Merlyn himself about the questions that Yao Fei had refused to answer, and two, that she would hopefully encounter Oliver and his companions who were supposed to have gone looking for Lyla three days ago.

Her thoughts wandered to her husband as they left the abandoned outpost. What had happened to Oliver? Had he also ended up a prisoner like her, or worse, had he wound up dead already? Surely, Merlyn would have already executed his original plan by now, and she could very well be a widow already. No, she couldn’t go down that road yet, she wouldn’t! She already cared about him deeply, and she had just begun to experience how amazing it was to love and be loved by him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you read between Yao Fei's lines? What did he mean by his last remark? (Answer: He was referring to having watched her bathing in the stream.) Which three men had he referred to that he knew were anxious to see Felicity?
> 
> A study by Pierre le Roux on birds in Southeast Asia confirms that there is indeed a kind of messenger bird in the region (much like the pigeons of the West, so I thought I would use that for this story.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver strikes up a conversation with Thea Merlyn and asks for her help. An important guest arrives at the Merlyn estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter answers some more questions but generates new ones, I suppose. ;-) Hehe... We are almost coming full circle. Hope you like this.

“Thank you,” Oliver said to the petite young lady that had come to his aid at the wine cellar. 

She had said her name was Thea. Oliver wondered what her relationship to the Merlyns was. Was she a trusted servant, perhaps a tutor or governess to Merlyn’s young? The expensivelooking dress she wore, as well as the smoothness of her skin and the absence of callouses on the palms of her hands, told him that she most probably was neither. Was she a member of the family or maybe a relative? To him, it wasn’t as important as the fact that, for some strange but very welcome reason, she had trusted him enough not to report his presence to the other members of the household. For now. 

Apparently, she hadn’t known about his captivity. From all indications, she had been taken by surprise that he was there; thus, he deduced that she was not an accomplice to the crimes committed by Malcolm Merlyn, whether he be her master or her kin. For the time being, she was his only ally, so he had to trust her to some extent as well. Nevertheless, he was still wary to some degree, fearing that one wrong move or one wrong word might turn things around, and the young lady might flee and alert the rest of the household, including Yao Fei and Merlyn’s men.

Kind-hearted Thea had untied his hands and feet. She then had torn a portion of her inner skirt and used it to apply pressure on the bleeding wound on his chest, the one inflicted upon him by his own arrow, which Yao Fei had flung straight back at him in the darkened hallway upstairs. She had also taken a bottle of wine from the nearest rack, opened it with a cork screw, and given him some of it to drink to dull the pain, and then she had used some of it as an antiseptic for the gaping wound on his chest. Oliver thought that the young woman was quite clever and quite courageous for her age. The least he could do was say ‘thank you.’

“Who are you, and why are you here?” she asked him after some time. She sounded genuinely curious instead of suspicious.

Oliver thought that since she had not been very hesitant to tell him her name, then he could at least tell her his own, as a sign of goodwill. Perhaps honesty could bide him more time and convince her to help him further. So, he replied, “I am Asintado. I am from the tribal village… in the Abu Mountains.” 

The frown on young Thea’s face as she looked straight into his blue eyes and then at his braided, sandy blonde hair told Oliver that she thought there was more to his identity than that. His few words certainly did not match his physical appearance, not exactly. So, he added, “I was raised by the Kinanyao. But my real parents were white people.” 

Thea nodded her head in understanding. The frown on her face disappeared, and she seemed satisfied with his laconic explanation. 

Oliver continued to speak, “I am looking for a white woman. Her name is Lyla Michaels.”

“Ms. Lyla? The nice lady who owns the general store with an inn in Christentown?” Thea asked to clarify who he was referring to.

“Yes.”

“Why are you looking for her here?” Thea was puzzled. She had made Ms. Michaels’ acquaintance several trips to Christentown ago. Ms. Lyla was a very nice person, but her family wasn’t that close to the businesswoman. (Truth be told, Thea had been more interested in befriending Lyla’s good-looking hired hand named Roy. Unknown to her parents, young Roy Harper had been the reason that she had urged her parents to come visit Christentown more often in the last year.) To Thea, it was very odd that someone had come looking for Ms. Lyla in their villa, even odder that the person who had come in search of the missing lady had ended up bound and wounded in their cellar.

Oliver answered, “Lyla disappeared a few days ago. She was taken from her house. I think… I believe that Mr. Merlyn had something to do with it.” He was careful with the words he chose, not just to make sure that he expressed himself clearly, but also to test how Thea would react.

“You mean my father?” she responded with an emphatic question that betrayed how intensely curious she had become.

“Malcolm Merlyn is your father?” he asked in return.

“He is,” she replied affirmatively. “I know there are many things that my father has been involved in that my mother and I do not approve of entirely. But kidnapping?” She paused to huff and shake her head in disbelief. “You can’t be serious!”

“Keep your voice down,” he told her softly.

Thea covered her mouth with a cupped palm upon realizing that her voice had gotten a little louder than before, and then she continued to speak. “There must be some mistake. My father--”

“Is responsible for so much pain, bloodshed, and death.” Oliver cut her off, speaking somberly and sternly in between gritted teeth with a voice low and growly as a bear’s, causing the young woman to flinch and feel goosebumps all over the skin of her arms and neck. He felt nothing but disgust and disdain for the man responsible for fanning the flames of conflict between the foreigners and the Kinanyao, for his father’s death and possibly for the attack on Felicity and her father, and who knows what else. “Malcolm Merlyn is a bad man. Because of him, so many people are dead, including my father.”

Thea was speechless but only slightly skeptical. Ever since she had been old enough to understand the goings-on around her – including the unhappy marriage of her parents and her father’s many shady business deals – she had often wondered if there was more to her father’s austerity and secretive nature than met the eye. A few times she had suspected that he’d been up to no good. Anyone that had gone against his wishes had been made to pay a very high price, or worse, had never been heard of again on the island. To say that her father was not a very good role model was an understatement. And yes, there had been times when she and her mother had suspected as much, but they had felt that neither of them had the right to question him about anything whatsoever. He was, after all, their staunch provider – the one that fed them and clothed them extravagantly and put ostentatious roofs over their heads. Thus, if she were to be completely honest, the suggestion that her father was behind an abduction certainly wasn’t far-fetched.

After some thought, Thea remarked, “That is a pretty damning accusation, mister…”

“Asintado.”

“Asintado.”

“You can believe me, or not. But that is the truth,” Oliver challenged her.

“Prove it,” she dared him back with a glare just as bold as his. The strangely similar expression in his eyes mirrored hers, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw herself looking back at her. Why did she have this bizarre feeling that she and he had an inexplicable connection? The thought sent shivers up and down her spine.

“I can prove it. But first, you have to help me… get out of here… and find Lyla,” Oliver replied in between deep breaths. He was panting slightly, as the feeling of pain returned. The anesthetic effect of the wine was fading away.

“That is easier said than done,” Thea told him with a huff of air escaping her mouth. “How do I get you out of this cellar without us running into someone as soon as we open that door?” she asked, turning her head towards the direction of the door at the top of the stairs. “Surely someone is going to come and check on you soon. I’m surprised no one has come down here yet since I found you. And judging from your size, I don’t even think we can make it halfway up the stairs with you leaning on me. I mean, isn’t it pretty obvious that I am incapable of carrying you?”

Oliver thought for a moment. She was right. Even if they did make it to the door at the top of the stairs, they’d be open targets as soon as they opened it and started down the hallway. It was already nightfall, and though it was almost completely dark in the cellar, almost every part of the house would, by this time, be lit up with candles and oil lamps. There was no way they would not be spotted. Surely, Merlyn and Yao Fei had posted guards in different parts of the villa. He was actually surprised that Thea had not come across one on her way down to the cellar. Once they opened that door, or sometime soon after, he would get caught once again, and he would be putting Thea in harm’s way.

“You are right. Maybe I don’t have to get out. Not yet,” he voiced out his thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“Bind me again. Let me stay here. Pretend like you never found me.”

“And what good would that do? They’ll still come back for you, and you still won’t find Ms. Lyla.”

“I won’t. But you will.”

“Me?” Thea asked. She could not believe what he was suggesting – that she do the sleuthing for him instead. Was he out of his mind? If her mother found out, she would be in so much trouble. If her father found out… She did not even want to go there.

Yet, truth be told, she really did not mind some adventure. It had been a long time since she had done anything close to exciting, which was one of the reasons why she had gotten herself in trouble time and again. Her life lacked thrill, and she constantly blamed the perennial boredom on her overprotective mother and her apathetic, indifferent father. Moreover, agreeing to Asintado’s plan of action would give her the opportunity to see for herself if what he was saying about her father was indeed true. She wanted to solve the conundrum that was Malcolm Merlyn, once and for all. She could deal with the consequences later.

Thus, she agreed to Oliver’s plan. She was to go upstairs with the bottle of wine, exactly what her mother had asked her to fetch about half an hour ago. He, on the other hand, was going to stay bound in the cellar. They would pretend like they had never met, while she tried to search the entire house for Ms. Lyla. She would then find a way to sneak back into the cellar when everyone had retired for the night, to dress his wound and to report to him what she had found out. With whatever information she could bring him, they would figure out their next move for the next day. They hoped that Lyla was not being held somewhere else in the vast estate. If that were the case, finding the woman that meant the world to Oliver’s friend Big John would be more complicated.

Oliver understood that he was taking a huge risk – trusting Thea Merlyn to keep his secret and leave him in the cellar, not knowing for sure if she would change her mind about all this and eventually turn against him. But it was a risk he was willing to take. He had no other option. At this point, Thea was his only hope to locate and rescue Lyla. She was the only way for him to get out of this situation alive and see his beloved Blue Eyes again. He was willing to stake everything on this one tiny young lady for as long as she was willing to help him. Intuitively, he sensed that she would not betray him; he just wasn’t sure why he felt this way.

* * *

Thea made her way to the kitchen where her mother and the maid were almost finished preparing dinner. She placed the bottle of wine on the table and quickly turned to leave before her mother noticed her. She wanted to start her sleuthing immediately, so that she could go back to the cellar and help the man named Asintado before he bled out from his injury.

But Moira Merlyn could not be outsmarted by the younger version of her, for she knew her own daughter too well. “What took you so long, Thea?” she asked, without even turning to face Thea. She could never get used to being exasperated with her strong-willed daughter.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m sorry, Mother. You know how much father’s collection of liquor fascinates me. Was I that long?” Thea asked, pretending she had lost track of time down at the cellar.

Moira simply sighed and shrugged her shoulders. Her daughter reminded her of herself when she was young. She picked up a platter of appetizers and turned towards Thea. “Well, I’m glad you finally decided to come back and help. Here, take this. We are almost ready to set the table and serve dinner. Your father’s guest is arriving any minute.”

So much for an early start at locating Lyla Michaels. Thea felt agitated that the dinner was going to delay her search. Poor Asintado will have to wait longer, she thought.

Grudgingly, Thea helped her mother and the maid in getting the dinner table ready. The dining room was all lit up, and candles were everywhere, brightening the entire area. Her mother had asked the servants earlier to bring in more decorative plants than usual. The simple floral centerpiece of freshly cut _gumamela_ made the dinner table look extra special. Her father’s guest must be a very important person, most probably another one of his political allies or business clients.   
As they placed the last pieces of silverware on the table, they heard a carriage pull up in front of the villa. Thea looked out the bay window and saw a tall, well-built man come down from the carriage. The man removed his hat, allowing Thea to get a good look at him. He was quite handsome with his dark hair and clean-shaven face, but his eyes betrayed a sullenness that diminished what would have been a characteristic attractiveness in his overall bearing.

Malcolm Merlyn descended the grand staircase and headed straight to the front door. Thea moved away from the window and walked with her mother to the foyer. They both knew how her father wanted it – that every time he had special guests coming to their house, whether in Paradise Point or here at the villa, his wife and daughter would be there with him.

At the portico, Malcolm welcomed the well-dressed visitor with a firm handshake. Thea could tell by the gesture that, although her father’s guest must be an important person, they weren’t that close.

“Good evening, Mr. Merlyn. I had no idea how far away from civilization your humble abode actually is,” the wealthy and well-groomed guest said with a sigh. By the man’s accent, it was valid to assume that he had come from one of the southern states, perhaps even from their hometown, Starling City.

“Good evening. I hope you had a safe and uneventful journey from Paradise Point,” Malcolm greeted back with a wide grin on his face. “You will be pleased to know that your much-awaited present has been found and is being delivered here as we speak.”

“I sure hope so, Mr. Merlyn. I’d hate to have traveled all this way only to be disappointed that you are unable to keep your end of the bargain.”

“Of course not, my friend. How could you doubt me? Your father and I have shared quite a history,” Malcolm replied with an arrogant flair. “When I received word of your arrival at Paradise Point a few days ago, I must say I was pleasantly surprised and excited to see you again. You were barely, what? Sixteen, when we first met?” he asked.

“Fifteen,” said the man.

“Ah, yes,” replied Malcolm. “My associates in Paradise Point sent me word that you were asking around about…” He paused, unsure of how to continue what he was about to say in the presence of his wife and daughter. But then, he found the words and continued, “…about the preacher-physician and his daughter that were ambushed more than a week ago en route to Christentown. I thought it was my duty as your late father’s close acquaintance to help you out.”

“Mr. Merlyn, I do not mean to be rude, but I really have no interest in small talk and superficial pleasantries. I prefer to get down to business straightaway. Shall we?”

Malcolm’s smile and the glint in his eyes quickly faded, as he and the man stared each other down. In many ways, the invited guest was like his father – a genius in anything scientific or medical – but Malcolm sensed that it wasn’t going to be easy dealing with him as it had been with the older scientist. He made a mental note to remind himself that he needed to proceed more cautiously than he had previously planned.

“We shall,” he replied more somberly this time. Malcolm turned to his wife and daughter, who had been standing a few feet behind him all this time. “But first, allow me to introduce my family. This is my wife, Moira. And this is my daughter, Thea. Moira and Thea, I’d like you to meet the most brilliant scientist from Starling City, Dr. Ray Palmer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I think by now you've figured out already that aside from Oliver and Malcolm, Ray Palmer is the third man who, according to Yao Fei, is anxious to see Felicity again. You will recall, in one of the earlier chapters where Felicity's back story was told, Ray Palmer was mentioned as an avid suitor that had proposed marriage to her back in Starling City but had been turned down. There's more to him than just a spurned suitor, as the next chapters will tell. So, I hope you stick around. ;-)
> 
> 2\. As a recap, these are what we have in the story right now: 1) Lyla, John, and Oliver are prisoners in the Merlyn estate but are being held separately. 2) Roy has not been captured. 3) Felicity and Wandatu are prisoners of Yao Fei and are being taken to the Merlyn estate. 4) Thea is supposed to search the house for Lyla, but the dinner will delay her. 5) Ray Palmer appears to be working with Malcolm as well.
> 
> 3\. The gumamela plant is also better known as the hibiscus, and it is very common in the Philippine islands. Its flowers come in different colors.
> 
> 4\. All the references to Starling City in this fic show that it is not in the same location as the one in canon. Here, it's in a southeastern state. It's where the Queens, the Smoaks, and the Merlyns were from. It's where Oliver met Tommy when they were boys. It's where Felicity studied to be a teacher. It's where Malcolm met Diggle and the Palmers, separately. It's where each character's back story took place.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help is on the way, but things aren't looking good for Oliver and Felicity. Secrets are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is twice as long as the usual ones. But pay close attention, because it holds the answers to many of the questions that you've probably been asking since chapter 1. Anyways, I won't keep you any more. Go ahead and read, and I hope you enjoy this!

“I need your help.” That was what _he_ asked of her. 

It was the second time that day that men have asked for young Thea’s help, and she had welcomed the challenge both times. As far back as she could remember, her father had hardly asked her help for anything (not even her opinion) except, of course, that she attend every event or celebration hosted by Paradise Point’s elite, for which she had to be publicly visible with her parents out of social obligation.

Asintado had asked for her help, and she had agreed to do it despite the risks, even if he was a complete stranger to her. It was something that she could not explain as of yet, but she was determined to discover why when the tension was resolved somehow.

This time, Roy Harper had asked for her help, too. He was a mere acquaintance, but one whom she had wished would become her friend, which was one of the main reasons that she loved visiting Christentown with her parents whenever they spent the weekend at the estate. Thea knew that the risk of being seen sneaking around the estate at night with Ms. Lyla’s hired hand was greater than that of snooping around in their own huge house and spying for Asintado. However, that did not keep her from obliging the young man, for whom her fondness had grown over the last year or so.

Dinner with Dr. Ray Palmer had been taking too long, which hadn’t worked to her advantage as far as locating Ms. Lyla was concerned. So, Thea had offered to help out the maid in clearing the table of the dinner plates and dish platters and in serving dessert, much to her mother Moira’s surprise. She had figured that helping out would afford her a gracious and inconspicuous exit, so that she could go about her surreptitious sleuthing in search of Ms. Lyla Michaels. After helping the maid in the kitchen for a while, Thea had taken the initiative to dispose of the day’s kitchen rubbish, planning to take leave permanently from whatever she was still expected to participate in as a Merlyn in the dining room. 

Just as Thea had stepped out of the back door that led her out of the kitchen to the back yard of the villa, she had heard someone whisper, “Ms. Thea.”

“Who’s there?” she had asked, stopping dead in her tracks. 

She had put down the basket of waste she was supposed to dispose of by the door, and then she had taken two tentative steps towards the darkened portion of the yard to her right side. She had squinted, trying to see if there was indeed someone there. “Who’s there?” she had asked again.

Roy had appeared from the shadows, coming out of hiding. “Ms. Thea, it’s me, Roy Harper, from Ms. Lyla’s store in town.” He had stood his ground, and his hands were right in front of him, gesturing for her to calm down and not be afraid of him.

“Roy!” she had whispered out loud (if that were possible). “What are you doing here?” she had asked in disbelief.

“Ms. Lyla has gone missing. I came here secretly with two friends to try to find her, but they both got caught. Your father… He is not a very nice man,” Roy had explained concisely and calmly. “Please don’t scream. Or tell anyone I’m here. I need your help.”

Thea had paused to contemplate on what her response ought to be. She had gotten past considering whether or not she should be helping strangers in search of Ms. Lyla. She had already agreed to help the tribal-looking white man in their cellar; for what earthly reason, she still did not exactly understand. Why then would she not be willing to help Roy as well? Clearly his story corroborated the story of Asintado, who must be one of the two friends that Roy was referring to. So, Thea made another independent choice knowing full well that the consequences would not be pleasant if and when her parents, especially her father, would find out.

“What kind of help do you need?” she asked Roy. “I believe I’ve already met your friend Asintado. I found him bound in the wine cellar, and he’s hurt. He needs a doctor. I promised I’d help him locate Ms. Lyla.”

“It is good to know that Asintado is alive. And thank you for trying to help,” Roy replied. 

“Well, I am not exactly fond of my father, as you may have observed when we occasionally visit Christentown,” Thea said. “And Ms. Lyla is a good person. She doesn’t deserve to go missing or get hurt. If what you and Asintado say is true, then I do see the need to help. It doesn’t matter what my last name is.”

Roy nodded, his heart flooding with admiration for the courage that the young Merlyn showed. “Thank you,” he acknowledged it.

“What do you want me to do? I haven’t done much yet. I was just beginning to search for her, but not in the house like your friend asked me to. Almost all of my father’s trusted men are in there because he has an important guest. It’s too much of a risk to be caught sneaking in and out of rooms when his men are everywhere. I was headed to the stables to look--”

“That is where I think Ms. Lyla is being held,” Roy interrupted her. “My friends and I came here secretly last night to find and rescue her. I was the lookout. I hid up there,” he said, pointing across the distance to the elevated water tank near the stables. “I saw my two friends make their way into the house through that door you came out of, but they didn’t make it out together. Only Mr. Diggle came out, carried by your father’s men, and he was unconscious.”

“Mr. Diggle?!” Thea exclaimed. “You mean my father’s servant? He’s Asintado’s friend, too?”

“Hush, dear miss. We can’t make noise or they’ll find us,” he cautioned her, putting his index finger close to her lips but not daring to make contact. The gesture made Thea gasp in surprise – pleasant surprise. She did not mind at all that young Roy Harper had moved into her personal space because of it. The fact that he had just addressed her as ‘dear miss’ also did not go unnoticed. Her heart skipped a beat, her eyes gleamed, and a smile blossomed softly on her face as their eyes locked onto each other’s. 

Roy then broke the silence and said, “Yes. Mr. Diggle and the Kinanyao chief’s son are helping me find Ms. Lyla.” 

He could see understanding slowly manifesting on Thea’s face, her eyes widening when she realized that the stranger she had agreed to help earlier was, in fact, the son of the tribal chieftain of the Kinanyao people. Asintado did tell her that his real parents were white, but that he had been raised by the natives; only, he had not specified that he was raised by the tribal chief himself. It dawned on Thea that this isolated case of abduction had to be bigger and more significant than she initially thought, for the son of the chief to personally come down from the mountains and see to it personally.

Roy continued, “Mr. Yao Fei and your father’s men dragged Mr. Diggle into the stables. This morning, one of the men brought food and water for two people. I’m guessing that both Mr. Diggle and Ms. Lyla are being held there. We need to get them out first. I cannot free Asintado from your heavily guarded house all by myself.”

“Alright, then… What do we do? How can I help?” Thea asked.

“I need you to distract the guards at entrance to the stables. Talk to them. Make up something believable so that they’ll leave their prisoners unguarded. Hopefully, that’ll give me enough time to free Mr. Diggle and Ms. Lyla. Mr. Diggle will know the best way to break Asintado out of the house.”

“That could work. But what makes you think that one of the men won’t stay behind to guard the prisoners inside? My father’s men aren’t that foolish, you know.”

“I think I can handle one or two guards. I’ll think of something.”

Thea was going to say, “Are you sure?” But she did not utter it. She did not want him thinking that she thought less of him. He might just be a hired hand, but she had always thought, ever since they met in town, that Roy Harper was a respectable young man who was smart in his own way. She did not want to humiliate him by casting doubt on his plan. She wanted him to know that she believed in him. If he said he’ll think of something, he’ll think of something. So, she nodded in affirmation and asked him instead, “Will I get to see you again after all of this is over?”

“I don’t know,” Roy replied. He certainly wanted to see her again; in fact, he had always looked forward to the Merlyns visiting Christentown on occasion. He had hoped to see more and more of Thea Merlyn, but he knew that once he crossed this line and became the enemy of Malcolm Merlyn by allying himself with Asintado, that may no longer be a possibility. _Never_ be a possibility. He did not want to give her false hopes, and it pained him to have to disappoint her before they even got the chance to become good friends.

Thea and Roy carefully made their way to the stables separately with a plan and a promise. A plan, to get Mr. Diggle and Ms. Lyla out of the stables safely, and then to get Asintado out of the villa alive. A promise, that if ever their paths crossed again someday, they would still be friends no matter what happened that night.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Thea, while she and Roy were discussing their plan, her father had brought yet another important guest into their house. Unlike Dr. Ray Palmer, this one, however, had not come willingly. 

Felicity was tired. By the time her captors had brought her and Wandatu to the Merlyn estate, her feet, her legs, and her arms were aching after an entire day of walking with her hands tied behind her back. Yao Fei’s men had dragged Wandatu somewhere else as she was led to the villa where she assumed the Merlyns were staying. Her hands were still bound with _abaca_ rope when Yao Fei brought her into the study and made her stand before Malcolm Merlyn and Dr. Palmer.

“Ray?” she uttered in utter disbelief. Her voice came out almost like a whisper, but she thought she heard his name reverberate in her own head. She could not believe her eyes. What was her former suitor doing here in Kinanyaoan Island, in the Merlyn estate of all places? Why was he with Malcolm Merlyn? What was his role in all of this? Ray Palmer was the last person she expected to see at that moment. Felicity stood at the doorway, speechless and anxious.

Ray Palmer looked up to meet her gaze, and immediately the tension on his face dissipated. His expression softened as he darted across the room towards her.

“Felicity,” he said as he held her by her shoulders and pulled her in for a hug. For some reason, he was expecting her to hug him back, and when she didn’t, he pulled away. Noticing that her hands were bound behind her back, he turned back to Malcolm Merlyn and demanded, “Why is she bound? Loose her bonds, or I will not pay the reward I owe you.”

Merlyn nodded to his men, signifying his approval of the request. One of the men untied Felicity as Merlyn stood up and approached them. 

“Felicity, I am so glad you are safe,” Ray told her, laying his hands once again on her shoulders. “When I learned that you and your father had left Starling and sailed for the colony, I nearly went out of my mind. I thought I’d lost you forever. I got on the next ship and followed you here, hoping you’ll change your mind and come back to Starling with me, maybe even accept my proposal at last, and we could start a life together. Your mother misses you already.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.

“I… I…” Felicity had a hundred things in mind to say to him, but nothing came out of her lips. She did not know where to begin.

Ray did not even notice. He was too absorbed in his plan for them to even consider what her response to his sudden reemergence in her life would be. He continued to tell her, “When I arrived in Paradise Point, I heard about the terrible news that you and your father were ambushed on your way to your destination. I’m sorry about your father. He was a good man with big dreams to change the world. When the authorities informed me that they hadn’t found your body among those recovered from the massacre at the mountain pass, I knew I had to find you. I just couldn’t accept that you were gone unless I saw your remains with my own eyes. I placed a notice in the paper the very next day, offering a reward to anyone who could give me legitimate information of your whereabouts.”

“Ray…” Felicity whispered, holding on to his forearm. She wanted him to slow down so that she could begin to tell him everything that transpired in the past several days, but he kept talking and talking.

“Mr. Merlyn, who I recalled was a friend of my father’s… He sent me a message telling me that he is privy to your whereabouts, and that if I agreed to come here escorted by his people, he would bring you to me. So, here I am.” He finished his story with arms extended, expecting Felicity to fall into them with gratitude and mirth that he had finally found her. Nonetheless, she stood unmoving and steadfast in front of him, offering him but a bittersweet smile in return for his  
overzealous excitement to see him. 

“Ray…” She wanted to tell him things that she knew would break his heart: that she was already married and in love with her husband, that she didn’t plan on going back to Starling, that her life and her husband’s were in danger, and that he had ignorantly allied himself with the real villain in the grand but wretched scheme of things. But, Malcolm Merlyn beat her to it.

“I can see why Ms. Smoak means a lot to you, Dr. Palmer,” Merlyn said. “She’s young and beautiful, and perhaps even as brilliant as your late father was, and as you are, evidently.” Merlyn laughed a little, intending to tease Ray, but it was obvious to the other man that his laughter was laced with sarcasm. “Unfortunately, it has come to my attention – and I say this with deepest regret – that this woman for whom you have sojourned thousands of miles, has recently become someone else’s spouse – that someone being a Kinanyao warrior, if I am not mistaken.” Merlyn sneered, satisfied that he had accomplished the goal of disheartening his good friend’s arrogant yet naïve son. He wanted to make sure that Ray Palmer understood who was in charge here.

Ray was taken aback, if the shock on his face was any indication. Felicity had seen the same expression when she refused his proposal twice, but the disappointment on his face now was mixed with sheer disapprobation and disgust at the choice that he thought she had made willingly, not at the onset, at least.

“Ray…” Felicity squeezed his arm, wanting him to listen to an explanation from her before he judged her unfairly. Yet, his mouth had gotten ahead of his better sense yet again. “Felicity, is this true?” Before she could answer him, she was rudely interrupted by someone else in the room speaking fluent English, but with a foreign accent.

“Mr. Merlyn speaks the truth,” Yao Fei said to Ray Palmer. “I am native Kinanyao. As is our custom, women are given a special necklace on her wedding day by the man who takes her to be his wife – a necklace like the one she is wearing around her neck right now.”

Instinctively, Felicity places her hand over the necklace on her chest. The feel of the pearl underneath her fingertips reminded her once again of Oliver and how much she longed to see him again, alive and well. She looked down at the beads to avoid Ray’s gaze, and when she looked up at him again, her eyes told him everything he needed to know.

“It can’t be. You’ve been here for just… and you married a… Why? How?” Ray spoke, incredulously.

“Ray… My father and I… This was not what we planned or came here for. You know that. When we were ambushed, things just… I didn’t know all of this was going to happen. I didn’t even know I would meet someone and care about him like I’ve never cared for someone before in my life. I… I can’t go back to Starling with you. I have a husband now, and I have a life here with his people. I still want to make a difference here, just like Father and I set out to do…” She paused for a second and bit her lower lip at the memory of her father and his brutal demise. “…if only these men had given him the chance to live,” she finished as her voice trembled in anger, pointing directly at Merlyn and Yao Fei.

“What are you talking about, Felicity?” Ray asked, more confused now than ever.

Merlyn turned away and walked back to where his solid _narra_ desk was. He turned back and leaned against it for support. He was about to deliver the speech that would enlighten Dr. Palmer, and he wanted to make sure that his words and intentions were clear. To everyone in the room.

“What your beloved Felicity is trying to tell you, Dr. Palmer, is that I am in charge here. Always have been. You can’t just set foot on this island, flaunting your money and expecting everyone to be at your beck and call. You see, I am not interested in your money or the reward you offered. Your family’s wealth actually came from me,” Merlyn declared with an arrogance that caused Ray’s to pale in comparison.

“How dare you!” Ray exclaimed in protest.

“How dare _you!_ Dr. Palmer, when I went back to America years ago to get my son Thomas and bring him back to this island, I met your father. He was nothing but a pathetic, fledgling scientist who was unable to finish medical school but wanted to become a part of Starling City’s elite. I promised him more than what he bargained for, and he delivered. Like me, he exchanged a clean conscience for power and prestige.” 

Merlyn crossed his arms on top of his chest and mocked Ray with a fake smile. “Oh, the late Mr. Palmer was brilliant like you. But once again, I regret that you have to find out this way – that the Great Plague that wiped out the native population near Paradise Point about seven years ago was actually your father’s clever idea. He cultured bacteria from cattle back home that we, fine white people have already developed an immunity to. Of course, I paid him a generous sum so that I could bring the plague safely back to this island, so that my political allies and I could subdue a people that outnumbered us and the military contingent we could muster to quell any rebellion by the remaining tribal clans once we started taking over their ancestral lands.”

Ray was rendered speechless this time. The revelation of his father’s sinister involvement in a genocide that killed almost an entire clan was a difficult thing to process even by his brilliant brain.

Felicity, however, could no longer keep silent. “You are a monster, Merlyn! You killed all those innocent people! You are not going to get away with mass murder!”

“Hmm… For a preacher’s daughter, I find you rather feisty, Ms. Smoak. Too bad your late father isn’t here to defend you,” Merlyn mocked her. 

Yao Fei added, “I should have killed her during the ambush when I had the chance, Mr. Merlyn.”

“Oh no, that would have been a terrible mistake,” Merlyn remarked confidently. “Sure, I originally wanted her and her father dead. We couldn’t have foreigners bringing hope and healing and learning to this part of the island. No. That was why _I_ had _you_ prod the jealous chieftain’s son to orchestrate an ambush for us, just like the one that _you_ orchestrated fifteen years ago on the same mountain pass.” He laughed scornfully.

“Murderer! You had my father killed! You had us killed, just like you had my husband and his father killed all those years ago!” Felicity shouted with seething anger, tears streaming down her cheeks. If Ray had not restrained her himself, she would have lunged at Malcolm Merlyn and slapped his face in contempt.

“I had to!” Merlyn yelled back. “Governor-General Robert Queen was a hindrance to my plans of expanding my business on the island. Then Vice Governor-General Blood was more… benevolent and cooperative.”

“And what about an innocent little boy?! Oliver Queen was only ten years old when he watched the slaughter of his own father in the hands of those warriors that you instigated. Have you no mercy? No conscience?” Felicity confronted him fiercely.

“The boy was not supposed to be there. He was… collateral damage,” Merlyn replied heartlessly.

“He wasn’t! You orphaned him in the cruelest way possible that day. What you have done to the Queen family, to my family, to the Kinanyao people – it’s unforgivable!”

“I’m not asking for forgiveness, Ms. Smoak, from you or from anyone,” Merlyn said deprecatingly. “I do what I have to do to stay in power.”

“You won’t be in power for long,” Ray interjected. “I will make sure of it. You are not the only one with friends in high places.”

“Go ahead, Dr. Palmer. That is, if you can leave these premises alive,” Merlyn rebutted. “Oh, but I’m sure threatening you would do me more harm than good. After all, I do need your scientific expertise. Which is where your beloved Ms. Smoak here comes in.”

“Don’t you dare hurt her,” Ray said in Felicity’s defense.

“Hurt her? No! I’m going to _kill_ her if you don’t do exactly as I tell you,” Merlyn threatened with the most menacing tone of voice Felicity has ever heard. She could tell that he meant every word he said.

Turning to Yao Fei, Merlyn added, “As I was saying a while ago – before I was so rudely interrupted by the preacher’s daughter – things had turned out to our advantage, better than I had planned. Who knew that ‘the’ Dr. Ray Palmer, renowned scientist, would come to the island at this time, too? I’m so glad that one foolishly merciful warrior had spared Ms. Smoak’s life. If she had died with her father in the ambush, then we wouldn’t have anything with which to strike a deal with Dr. Palmer now, would we, Yao Fei?” Yao Fei smiled in approbation.

“What kind of deal?” Ray suddenly spoke up.

“It’s really simple, Dr. Palmer,” Merlyn answered. “Just follow in your father’s example. Develop a new strain from the bacteria that caused the plague years ago, one that we can use to eliminate the stubborn clans that refuse to yield their lands on this side of the island. When your job is done, you can have your Felicity and bring her back to Starling unscathed.”

“Never!” was Ray’s response.

Merlyn replied, “Never say never. When I was younger I never thought I could rise from the ash heap that the Civil War left me in. But look at me now. Look at the empire I am building in this part of the world.”

“This is not an empire, Mr. Merlyn. You are turning this paradise into a living hell,” Felicity retorted.

Malcolm Merlyn signaled Yao Fei to silence Felicity. The Kinanyao traitor grabbed her from Ray Palmer’s grasp, restrained her, and pointed a pistol at her neck.

“Do we have a deal, Dr. Palmer?” Merlyn asked. Ray nodded and bowed his head, not saying a single word to Merlyn. “Excellent choice, Dr. Palmer.”

“No! Ray, you can’t! Please, not for me. Hundreds of people will die. Please!” Felicity begged Ray.

“Ms. Smoak, you talk too much,” Merlyn said to her. “I’m afraid I will have to detain you somewhere else so that Dr. Palmer can get straight to work first thing in the morning without distractions from your overactive tongue.”

“You will not get away with this, Merlyn,” Felicity bravely declared. “My husband will come for you, and he will bring you to justice.”

“Your husband? Oh! you mean Oliver Queen, the adopted son of the Kinanyao chief,” Merlyn acknowledged. “Once again I regret to inform you that he is indisposed. He is wounded and bound down in my cellar. I doubt he is in any capacity to – what did you say? – bring me to justice.”

Felicity gasped at the revelation that Oliver had already been captured. Her worry all the more increased when Merlyn mentioned that he had been injured. She still tried to get free from Yao Fei’s strong hold, but she couldn’t. She wanted to get to the cellar that Merlyn spoke of and see to her husband’s condition. 

“Please, I’ll do anything you say. I just… I just want to see my husband. Please, let me see Oliver.” This time, she lowered her voice and pleaded with Merlyn in a dignified way.

“Well then, because you asked so nicely, and so that Dr. Palmer here will see that I am truly a man of my word, I will let you see your half-bred husband for now. You can stay with him until morning, but the two of you will have to remain bound and guarded. Do not make the mistake of telling your husband about my… plans for the future, or the guard will immediately remove you from him. Say your goodbyes, my dear, and make sure you cherish them. Because in the morning, you and Dr. Palmer will leave for Paradise Point, and you will never see Oliver Queen or his friends again.” 

“What will you do with them?” she asked.

“That is none of your business,” Merlyn replied haughtily, and then he turned to Yao Fei and commanded, “Take her to the cellar, and guard them personally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think? Be sure to stick around for the next chapter, as Oliver and Felicity are reunited after several chapters of being apart. Also, the final major reveal will also happen next.
> 
> 1\. Narra is the national tree of the Philippines. Wood from narra trees are excellent for making furniture and building houses.
> 
> 2\. Of course, the idea that a foreign capitalist colonizer like Malcolm Merlyn would use disease to kill of the native population is not original. As I mentioned in the Notes of the early chapters, I draw many aspects of this plot from history, but I do not try to be faithful to history, which makes this NOT historical fiction. As I said, I still find it hard to classify this type of fic, and the closest sub-genre I can think of is pseudo-history. Anyway, I just wanted to say that getting inspiration from such conspiracy theories in Latin American history does NOT mean that I believe and support those theories that blame the Spanish conquerors for intentionally and systematically wiping out the native Indian population in Central America all those centuries ago by spreading disease, which was similar to small pox or to the bubonic plague that wiped out European population earlier. When I read up on the topic, I learned that in recent years, scientific research has offered two other more plausible explanations for the outbreak that wiped out the Aztecs in the 16th century. One theory was that the disease was not really small pox but was actually a kind of salmonella that originally came from animals brought in from Europe that the westerners were already immune to. The other theory was that the climate in the region and the weather during that period in the 1500s was responsible for the spread of the disease. I am not aware of any scientifically credible study that has already proven that the outbreak back then was intentional and systematic (for if that were truly the case, then it ought to outrage all of us who believe in human dignity), so if you do, please do let me know so I can learn something new.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herein is the much-awaited reunion.

Felicity had never looked at him this way. And Ray Palmer knew she never will. 

The way she looked at the tribal-looking white man that she had called Oliver – it was a look of genuine love and affection. The sting of rejection had never hurt so excruciatingly for him as it did at that moment when the young woman, whom he had wanted to walk down the aisle and start a family with in Starling, had rushed to the aid of her own husband, calling out his name in frantic concern.

Yao Fei had taken them straight to the wine cellar, as Malcolm Merlyn had ordered. He was only supposed to take Felicity, but she had asked Ray to come along and help see to Oliver’s condition. Malcolm had obliged. One of Merlyn’s men had unlocked the cellar door and opened it for them to pass through. They had gone down the rickety stairway together, Yao Fei leading the way. 

When they had reached the bottom of the stairs, Felicity had called out, “Oliver…?” There had been no answer. “Oliver…?” she had called out again in slightly louder voice. Still there had been no response. As if by instinct, she made the turn into the first row of wine bottles, and as soon as she spotted her husband’s body lying so very still on the cold stone floor a few meters away, her feet had taken flight towards him. She had gotten down on the floor, lifted his head, and cradled it on her lap. 

“Oliver, it’s me. Please wake up and say something,” she had pleaded, almost like a prayer. She had scanned his face and the rest of his body, disconcerted that the lack of light in the dark cellar had made it harder for her to ascertain his physical condition. She had been grateful when Yao Fei had drawn nearer, for Merlyn’s partner in crime had with him an oil lamp.

Felicity had studied every inch of her husband’s face, gazing at him with so much tenderness and concern. She had only looked away once to check for his pulse and to listen to his heartbeat by placing her ear on his chest, almost directly on top of the open wound inflicted by the arrow that Yao Fei had flung at him. His pulse was weak, but it was there nonetheless. The wound appeared to have stopped bleeding, and the blood on his skin had dried up around the wound.

“Oliver,” she had whispered his name near his ear, and a few seconds later, Oliver’s eyes had fluttered open. It had taken some time for his eyes to adjust to the light, even if it hadn’t been as bright as Felicity would have liked. He had grown accustomed to the darkness in the cellar since sundown. His body had succumbed to fatigue, thirst, and hunger, and he had passed out due to blood loss a few hours ago after Thea had left to do as he had asked.

When Oliver recognized who it was that hovered over him, speaking his name ever so gently, he had found renewed strength to speak. “My Blue Eyes,” he had whispered, gazing straight into her eyes.

Felicity sighed, relieved that Oliver had regained consciousness and recognized who she was. A smile had instantaneously blossomed on her pretty, albeit tired, face. “Yes, yes. It’s me. I’m here, Oliver.”

Oliver had smiled back at her, despite the purple bruise on his face. His smile had widened a little bit more when he saw her wearing her wedding necklace. He had missed his wife so much, even if it had just been a few days since they had last seen each other in the village. He was grateful for this moment in spite of the fact that he was still being held captive, for the thought that he would never see Felicity again had crossed his mind more than once since he had been caught. His smile had faded soon, however, for it had dawned on him that if Felicity was right there with him, then she had to have been caught, too.

“Did they hurt you?” Oliver had asked. His anxious eyes narrowed, as he searched her face for injuries. He had wanted to reach out and touch her, to feel her with his bare hands and make sure that no part of his precious wife had been harmed or scathed, but his hands were still bound.

“No, no. I’m fine,” she had assured him. “My feet are just a bit sore from all the walking today. Other than that, I am alright.” She paused, not knowing how to tell him that it was Wandatu that had brought her here, that his half-brother had been the one responsible for her getting caught. She hadn’t figured out yet how to tell him everything, when Oliver himself had asked her, “How did you get here?”

“It was… It was your brother’s (fault) idea,” she had answered with trepidation. When Oliver’s forehead had furrowed in puzzlement, she knew she had to tell him the truth. “Wandatu… Your brother thought that he could get to the bottom of all this if he took me from the village and brought me to Yao Fei.”

“My brother exchanged you for information?!” Oliver had asked with a voice almost like a fearsome growl, but one that had not been directed at her.

“Something like that,” she had replied, her eyes avoiding him. “Please don’t hate him, Oliver. He did what he thought would fix… all of this. He didn’t realize what he had gotten involved in from the beginning... until now. In many ways, Wandatu has been a victim of deceit and manipulation as well.”

Oliver closed his eyes for a moment, disappointed that the enemies of his people had treacherously manipulated his brother all these years. Merlyn and Yao Fei were indeed shrewd, using the apparent sibling rivalry between him and Wandatu to their malevolent advantage.

“Where is Wandatu now?” he had asked. 

“We were brought here bound by Yao Fei and Merlyn’s men. They brought me here, to this house. I don’t know where they brought your brother,” she had answered. “But I do know this. Malcolm Merlyn is the mastermind behind all of this wickedness. He has admitted being responsible for the ambush and murder of your father, and also of mine. And worse, he was also behind the Great Plague some years ago. Right now, he is planning something, something terrible. We have to stop him, because if we don’t--”

“That’s enough, Ms. Smoak!” Yao Fei had yelled. “You know Mr. Merlyn’s orders--”

“That’s _Mrs. Queen,_ if you please.” Felicity yelled back fearlessly, “And yes, I know what your arrogant monster of a master ordered, but frankly, I really don’t care.”  
Yao Fei had almost come forward to slap her face, but Ray Palmer had intervened in time. “Mr. Yao Fei, please. Pardon the woman’s rash speech. She is overcome by emotion at the moment.” 

Turning to Felicity, he had cautioned her, “Felicity, my dear, there is no need to provoke Mr. Merlyn’s men.”

Ray had drawn near and lowered himself to the stone floor where Felicity had Oliver’s head on her lap. “Why don’t we see to this man’s injuries?” 

Felicity had acquiesced and said to Ray, “_This man_ is Oliver Queen, my husband. He is the son of the late Governor-General Robert Queen, whom Malcolm Merlyn ordered to be killed about fifteen years ago. He has also become the favored son of the Kinanyao tribal chief Muidatu. As you can see, he needs immediate medical attention.”

“Felicity, who is this man?” Oliver had suddenly asked.

“Oliver, this is Dr. Ray Palmer. He is a… friend of mine from Starling,” Felicity had answered. “He came to the island looking for me. He is a scientist… like a doctor. He can help with your wound before it gets infected.”

Oliver may not have known the history between Felicity Smoak and Ray Palmer exactly, but just one look between the two and he had already sensed it. 

Felicity had also sensed what was probably going on in Oliver’s mind, so she had lovingly reassured him before he could even begin to entertain a shadow of a doubt about her fidelity. “Oliver, he is _a friend._ He won’t harm you. He can help.” Turning to Ray, she had told him, loudly and clearly enough for her husband to hear, “Dr. Palmer, thank you for agreeing to help me attend to _my husband._” When Ray had nodded in affirmation, she had turned back to Oliver and given him the sweetest smile. 

That was when Ray Palmer realized for sure that he had most definitely lost his beloved’s heart to the wounded warrior that she now lovingly cradled in her arms and on her lap – the stranger known only to him as both the heir of the Queen estate and the favored son of a tribal chieftain. Ray could see it in her eyes – that she had fallen in love with this mystery of a man, half-white and half-native. He decided right then and there that Felicity Smoak would never learn to love him this way, not with the way that she looked at Oliver and the way he gazed back at her. Ray had never felt jealous of anyone in his life, but as the saying went, there was always a first time, and his was with Oliver Queen. But because Ray loved Felicity still, he would help this person that obviously mattered to her like life itself. 

Ray asked Merlyn’s guard to fetch from the mistress of the house the things he needed to dress Oliver’s wound properly. Yao Fei allowed it, and even loosed Oliver’s bonds. Minutes later, when Ray had everything he needed brought to the cellar, he saw to the task with Felicity’s assistance. Soon, Oliver was sitting upright, leaning against a crate of wine bottles for support.

When the task was accomplished, Yao Fei spoke. “I’m afraid I’ll have to take you upstairs to your room now, Dr. Palmer. The cellar is less than satisfactory for a man of your stature, I suppose.” When Ray did not move from where he was seated on the floor near Felicity and Oliver, Yao Fei pointed his pistol at Felicity and repeated what he had said. At this, Ray stood up and took leave from his friends, following the guard up the stairs and out of the cellar.

* * *

Yao Fei then turned to Felicity and reminded her, “You know you have only until sunrise.”

“Yes, I am aware,” she replied, trying so hard to remain polite and not to antagonize the man. “I am also aware that Merlyn instructed you to stand guard while I am here. But if you could please just give me and my husband some semblance of privacy until then, I would be grateful. It’s the least you can do before you separate us permanently. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Yao Fei nodded and backed away, retreating towards the foot of the stairway where he could still have a clear view of the captives and hear them converse.  
Oliver took her hand and squeezed it. And when she looked up to meet his gaze, he asked her, “What did you mean?”

Felicity knew what he was asking about. For a second, she regretted mentioning their separation in Oliver’s hearing. But she reminded herself that if no divine intervention came before sunrise, she might never see her husband again. They had to make the most of this opportunity to be together. He deserved to know what was coming, even if she was not allowed to divulge the details of Merlyn’s plans within Yao Fei’s hearing distance.

“Oliver,” she began to explain, “Merlyn is traveling back to Paradise Point with Yao Fei and his men first thing tomorrow morning. He is taking Dr. Palmer and me with them. When all of this is over, and Ray has completed what Merlyn has pressured him to do at the threat on my life, Ray will take me back with him to Starling City.”

“And I will never see you again…” Oliver added, sadness weighing down on his every word.

“I’m afraid so.” Felicity’s voice wavered. She thought she had replied only in her thoughts. 

Not seeing him ever again was actually the least of her fears. What she dreaded _more_ was surviving this ordeal and living the rest of her life without him. What she dreaded _most_ was Merlyn having Oliver (and his friends) killed as soon as she and Ray left for Paradise Point. She tried to blink away the tears that were welling up in her eyes, but she couldn’t.

For a while, there was only silence between them. Deafening silence. Both of them were grateful for the physical contact, for it was the only thing keeping them grounded at the moment. Instead of him charging their captors in a fit of rage and a reckless disregard for wisdom and prudence. Instead of her breaking down in angry tears and wallowing in misery at the hopeless prospect of losing the man that had so unexpectedly taken her father’s place in her life – that of being the most precious, most important person in her life in such a short time.

“Do not worry about me,” Oliver began to say, breaking the silence. “Please, live your life. Start a family. Dr. Palmer seems like a good man. Be happy, Felicity.”  
Felicity sighed as she wiped the tears that slid down her cheeks. “You know, that first day, when you told me – in not so many articulate words – that you had claimed me as your wife to save my life from the flames? I became so unhappy. I had just lost my father. I couldn’t believe I had also lost my freedom in one day. I honestly thought that the rest of my life as your wife in a strange land would be unbearably miserable. But I was wrong. And I never thought I’d say this, but it’s true. As long as you are in my life, I’m happy. Oh, I’ll live, perhaps long after all of this is over. But I don’t think I could ever be this happy again – not without you in my life.”

Oliver shifted in his sitting position so that he could face her – the woman that had so wondrously invaded his simple, solitary life in the jungle. Her words overwhelmed him, gave him hope. He wasn’t afraid to die, not if it meant Felicity could still go on and live her life unharmed and far away from danger back in Starling City. But he could not bear the thought of her living the rest of her life unhappy. He could not stand it – imagining the brightness in those beautiful blue eyes dimming and eventually fading away. Felicity was pure joy and happiness, as her very name meant, and she had brought him out of darkness with her light. She would cease to be who she was if that happiness and light was snuffed out of her life by their separation. He could not let that happen. He would not. He would find a way out of this seemingly hopeless situation. For her. If not by sunrise, then he would fight back even after they’ve gone – even until the inevitable attempt to execute him – and go after her in Paradise Point. 

He had to. He reminded himself of how he had known from the beginning that they were meant to be together. Two lives that had become one. They had lived separate lives even if they had similar origins. They had both been guided to the island by their fathers’ vocations. They had been both broken and built up by the same kind of tragedy that most people of weaker resolves would never have come out of stronger than they’ve ever been. Their paths had crossed in the most unique and unpredictable way, and yet despite the anguish of loss, and in the midst of strained conflict between peoples, they had found themselves in each other. She had been the key that unlocked the truth about his past and his identity. He had been the key to her survival and to the fulfillment of her humanitarian aspirations for the future.

_“Ay-ayaten ka,”_ Oliver told her tenderly, cupping her cheek with his calloused palm.

Felicity wrapped her hand around his wrist and said it back to him, _“Ay-ayaten ka.”_

As if by instinct, they both leaned in at the same time, meeting each other halfway for an embrace and a kiss. The kiss was tender and passionate at the same time, both pouring into it all the love that they could give. This could be the last one they got to share, and they knew it. However, it did not mean that they were just going to resign themselves to it.

They broke the kiss, but they did not let go of each other’s embrace when Oliver whispered quietly to her, “I’ll come for you. I’ll find a way.”

Felicity pulled back to look at his face and asked in an equally hushed voice, “Is that a promise?”

“Yes,” Oliver replied softly but resolutely. He kissed her forehead and added, “I will not let you go. And I will find a way to stop Malcolm Merlyn.” She kissed the side of his neck, and then she rested her head on his chest underneath his chin. “I believe in you.”

They spent another hour talking about their past and learning more about each other. They talked about what they would be doing in the present and what their future might be like, if they hadn’t been trapped in this warped web of deception. There was so much of each other to discover, but so little time. Soon, though, they had given in to weariness and had fallen asleep in each other’s arms. The question of whether or not tomorrow was going to go in their favor remained unanswered, and their fate hung in the balance.

Little did Oliver and Felicity know that help was on its way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are approaching the climax and the ending of this story. Just a little bit more. Would love to keep hearing from you. :-)


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help did come, even with Oliver and Felicity not being aware of it. But a grave threat still stands with a bow and arrows between them and their freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a very long chapter, but I hope you will still enjoy it. ;-)

Oliver and Felicity were forcibly awakened from their slumber by distressing noises. Oliver awoke first, trying to make out what all the screaming and shouting were about. Through the cellar’s window, he noticed that the sun had just barely risen, for the sky that he could barely see was still a bluish-grayish hue.

Felicity stirred beside him and tightly gripped his arm upon hearing the alarming sound of the commotion from upstairs. “What’s happening?” she asked Oliver.

“I do not know,” he replied, shaking his head slightly. It did not escape his notice that the movement, which would have previously caused his head to spin and cause a dizzy spell, did not produce the same effect. Medical attention and a few hours of sleep had done him good, and he seemed to have regained some strength.

They stood and drew near the foot of the stairway that led up to the door of the cellar where they were being kept prisoners. There was no sign of Yao Fei. For some reason they had been left alone. Strange. Something must have terribly gone wrong for their stalwart guard to have left them without any watchful eye.

“Find them! They couldn’t have gotten far,” someone yelled from outside the door. They could barely make out whose voice it was, but they definitely could sense the tension and rage in the man’s voice.

Oliver took Felicity’s hand and together they climbed the stairs. When they reached the top, he checked the latch and found that the door was locked from the outside. He placed his ear near the door and listened for more.

From the other side of the door, another man’s voice could be heard speaking angrily at the top of his voice. “You! Tell the men to get the horses and the carriage ready. We shall leave for Paradise Point immediately! And you, go and fetch Dr. Palmer from his room. Yao Fei, get the blonde woman and meet me at the foyer.”  
“And what of the other prisoner, Asintado?” asked the other man whom Oliver presumed to be Yao Fei, judging from his accent.

“You know what to do. He does not leave this villa alive,” replied the man. Oliver assumed that the one who was giving the order was Malcolm Merlyn. “When you and your men catch the escaped prisoners, slay them as well. I want no trace of them anywhere in my estate. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Mr. Merlyn,” Yao Fei answered confidently.

“Do not fail me a second time, Yao Fei,” Merlyn added, his voice venomous with threat. “Tie up the loose ends left by your incompetent guards. If Oliver Queen slips through your fingers too, I can assure you that if you are not a dead man by tomorrow, I will make it my life’s mission to have you banished from this island by either the governor-general or your very own people!”

“I do not appreciate threats, Mr. Merlyn, especially since I have more than proven my loyalty for the past several years,” Yao Fei retorted with just as much virulence in his voice. “The escape of the black man, the white woman, and the son of the chief was not entirely the fault of my men. You are just as much to blame as I am. I was told that the young man that had come to their aid was abetted by none other than your darling daughter.”

“She is not my daughter!” Merlyn hissed in rage. Then there was silence for a few seconds. Neither of the villains spoke. 

Oliver and Felicity, on the other hand, turned to look at each other in puzzlement. If Thea Merlyn was not Malcolm Merlyn’s daughter, then whose daughter, was she? 

Merlyn broke the silence and spoke again to give further instructions, “As soon as you have taken care of Oliver Queen and his friends, bring Mrs. Merlyn and my… and her treacherous daughter with you to Paradise Point.”

Felicity was about to speak when Oliver placed his finger on her lips upon hearing footsteps drawing near. He signaled her to go down the stairs quickly while he positioned himself on the topmost step, ready to attack the first person to enter through the door. 

Felicity held her breath at the bottom of the stairs, taking refuge behind a tall stack of wine bottle crates. Anxiously she wondered what would happen as soon as the door that her husband stood right next to opened. In the past week or so that she had known him, she had not really seen him fight or engage in a skirmish. Would he be able to defend them? Would he have to maim or kill the enemy for their sake? Her sake? She supposed he could. He was not regarded as one of the tribe’s most fearsome and cunning warriors for nothing.

She had heard horrible stories of how primitive Kinanyao warring parties had allegedly brutally murdered her own people in the past, and she did witness what tribal warriors were capable of when she and her father were attacked. Inasmuch as she was repulsed by the thought of having to relive such a horrid incident, she felt very strongly that another scene of violence that she would never be able to remove from her mind would soon unfold right before her eyes. Yet after living among the native men, women, and children in the village for a few days, she had come to believe that the Kinanyao were not savage murders by nature, and that they only fought back ferociously to ensure the welfare of their race when provoked. Because of the example of fiendish men consumed by greed and lust for power – men like Malcolm Merlyn and the late Dr. Palmer Sr. – she believed that her own people were just as capable of savagery, perhaps even of the harsher kind.

Oliver could only wish that he had his bow and quiver with him, but he did not mind at all if engaging the enemy with his own hands might pull the stitches that Dr. Palmer had skillfully done to bind up his wound. He was determined to protect Felicity at all cost – and, to keep Yao Fei and his men from taking her from him. If they wanted to seize her, they would have to do so over his dead body. From what his keen hearing could pick up, he counted two or three men approaching. He could handle armed men with his bare hands. He just hoped that the experienced warrior Yao Fei would not get the upper hand and shoot him with an arrow while he tackled his men.

* * *

The latch to the wooden door clicked, and the door cracked open. One of Yao Fei’s men walked in, but before he could take another step into the cellar, an elbow crashed against his face. Oliver grabbed the man by his shoulders and flung him over the rickety banister. The man landed hard on the floor of the wine cellar with a loud thud, and Felicity heard a pathetic groan from the poor, unsuspecting man.

Another guard, this time a native man dressed in white men’s clothing, quickly came through the door in an attempt to aid his companion. The man drew a knife from its sheath attached to his belt and tried to stab Oliver from behind. 

Felicity screamed, “Oliver! Behind you!”

Without even turning to face his assailant, Oliver deflected the attack with his arm against the man’s wrist, causing the man to lose his grip on the weapon. The knife flew into the air and fell down the steps. Oliver and the man exchanged punches, but Oliver was quicker and more skilled than his opponent. A powerful jab to the man’s jaw knocked him down. Oliver grabbed the man by his neck with one hand and lifted him a few inches off the ground. The man struggled to breathe in Oliver’s grip, grabbing Oliver’s hand to try to break free. The weakened man kicked against Oliver’s shin, but Oliver did not even flinch. With his strong arms, Oliver threw the man down the wobbly wooden stairs.

In complete battle mode, Oliver did not stand down just yet. Two of Merlyn’s men were indisposed, but he instinctively sensed another immediate, more serious threat just outside the door. Looking up ahead just a split-second later, he saw Yao Fei a few meters down the hallway, nocking an arrow and aiming it straight at him. 

The first arrow flew through the air and missed Oliver’s face by a handspan. Yao Fei marched down the hallway to the entrance of the cellar with his bow at the ready. A second arrow flew, and then a third, but both failed to hit their target. Oliver had dodged them both and then managed to evade further attacks by jumping over the banister; he landed on his feet on the ground, crouching next to the injured body of the first man. When he looked up, he saw Yao Fei looking down at him, ready to shoot an arrow. Just as Yao Fei released the arrow, Oliver took the fallen guard by his shirt and lifted the man’s body to shield him. The poor man’s chest became the target of two more arrows. 

Yao Fei dashed down the stairs while Oliver dropped the dead man’s body to the ground and took cover behind another stack of wine crates.

“There’s no way out, Asintado. You might as well give up,” Yao Fei taunted as he reached the bottom of the stairs. His bow was still at the ready, an arrow nocked into place as his eyes searched for his target in the dim light. 

Oliver did not say a word. He did not want to disclose his position, and he was also trying to come up with a plan of escape. The cellar door up above was the only way out, but he and Felicity would have to go through Yao Fei. He knew it was close to impossible, since she herself was hiding at the other end of the cellar, but he was not about to give up.

Yao Fei rounded the corner of the stairway, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Felicity hiding behind the crates nearby. He back-tracked a few steps and kicked the leg of his comrade – the one that lay on the ground still trying to gather his wits – in order to get him to stand up and help. “You, get the girl,” he half-whispered, pointing in the direction of Felicity’s hiding place with his chin. The man groaned but rose to his feet and did as he was told.

“Show yourself, Asintado!” Yao Fei called out once more. “If you do, no harm will come upon your wife. You have my word.”

Oliver’s heart sank. With Yao Fei standing between him and his beloved, he knew this was bound to happen. He feared for Felicity, knowing what would befall her in the hands of a traitor like Yao Fei, but he also knew that delving into uncertainties would side-track him from figuring out a plan for a safe flight out of their predicament. That was something he could not afford to do.

Oliver closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For some strange reason, the thought that first entered his mind was of Felicity’s faith. He recalled how she told him before that the God she and her father believed in listens to prayer. In a flash of memory, a snippet of the past crossed his mind. It was of him as a little boy cradled in his mother’s arms as she put him to sleep in their home in Starling City. Moira Queen was singing a prayer to him softly, a prayer to God to keep watch over him throughout the night. He remembered how safe he had always felt as he slept. “Help me, please,” he uttered in his thoughts, praying that the same God that his mother and his wife trusted in was listening.

He took another deep breath, and when he opened his eyes, a thought came to him. No harm was to come upon Felicity. Yao Fei using her as leverage to capture him now, was not a real threat. Merlyn needed her alive in order to force the man named Dr. Palmer to do whatever it was that he was planning against the Kinanyao. They needed her in Paradise Point for something very important. Merlyn had specifically instructed Yao Fei to bring Felicity from the cellar so that they could leave with Dr. Palmer as soon as possible. 

Oliver decided that the only way that both he and she was getting out of this dilemma alive at the moment was for him to remain hidden right where he was, and – no matter how hard it was for him – to let Felicity go. Thus, Oliver remained mute, moving stealthily from behind a stack of wine bottle crates to the first row of wine racks. He was going to lose her now, albeit temporarily, but he was going to find a way to evade Yao Fei, and he was going to go after her as far as Paradise Point, come hell or high water.

* * *

“So, this is how you want your wife to remember you, Asintado… A coward!” Yao Fei mocked Oliver, sneering and letting out a sarcastic smirk. He had become even more arrogant, now with Felicity in the clutches of one of his men who now pointed a knife at her throat. Even if Yao Fei thought it absurd and foolishly sentimental, he was sure that Asintado would yield if his wife’s life was at stake.

“He’s not a coward!” Felicity shouted, defending her husband’s honor.

“Silence!” Yao Fei cried, as he approached Felicity in just two long, swift strides. 

A crack sounded in the stillness as the back of his hand made contact with her cheek. She let out a small whimper, wanting still to remain strong and brave even as her tears rolled down her face. She felt the sting of pain, and she was certain that an unpleasant bruise was going to color her right cheek in a moment.

How dare that perfidious turncoat lay a hand on his Blue Eyes! 

Oliver protested in his mind as his jaw clenched and his knuckles turned white in his fists at his sides. It took him every ounce of self-control not to engage his enemy with words, and not to say anything to assure his wife that everything was going to be alright. He only wished that she trusted him enough and that he had a reason for doing this.

“Now see what you made me do?” Yao Fei jeered at Felicity. Turning to the direction where he thought Oliver was still hiding, Yao Fei added, “I am not going to apologize for smiting your beloved’s beautiful face, Asintado. You are the only one to blame. Come out now, and I will not have to strike her again.”

No one moved. No one breathed.

And after a minute or two of complete silence, Yao Fei could no longer suffer a stalemate. Mr. Merlyn needed the blonde woman right now. He would have to deal with Asintado by himself. Trying to conceal the feeling of defeat in his voice, Yao Fei ordered his comrade to bring Felicity to the foyer of the villa where Malcolm Merlyn and Dr. Palmer were supposed to be waiting. 

Oliver heard Felicity’s voice fading in the distance as she cried out his name while being dragged up the stairs and out of the cellar. He felt helpless, but he reminded himself that he had actually been able to bide them time. In his heart, he had faith that they were going to see each other again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think will happen now? The next chapter will shed light on how Oliver's friends escaped, will tell what becomes of him and Felicity, and will include the last reveal hinted at in this chapter. After that, the final update will be an epilogue. Thank you again for reading this. You are such wonderful people! :-)


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity is taken away. And while Oliver is at a stalemate with Yao Fei, a very important conversation takes place in Moira Merlyn's bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I started writing the finale chapter, I reconsidered delving more deeply into Moira's character and past so that the final reveal will have a stronger impact. I hope I've achieved this purpose.

“Good heavens, child! What were you thinking?!” exclaimed Moira Merlyn.

Her free-spirited daughter Thea had always had a penchant for mischief that she did not approve of, but she had never thought her capable of aiding and abetting a stranger and a criminal.

“They needed help, Mother,” Thea replied.

“By _they,_ I assume you are referring to that lowly stable boy, the servant at the general store in town, the one whom you have grown fond of these past months? Don’t think I hadn’t noticed.” Moira glared at her daughter with her arms crossed against her chest.

Thea offered no protest. She was not going to deny what she felt for Roy Harper. He was a good, hard-working, and kind young man who did not abandon his friends when they needed him most.

When her daughter just stood in front of her silent, Moira continued to reprimand her. “Don’t you dare do something like that again, young lady. _They_ could have hurt you!”

“But they didn’t! They were the ones who were being hurt, Mother. Those poor, innocent people… I just had to do something!”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Moira asked incredulously, still very much upset. “Mr. Diggle deserves to be bound and locked up after what he’d done. It was a good thing Mr. Yao Fei and his men had caught him fleeing the estate a second time. He should be jailed in Paradise Point for the rest of his life! Imagine the effrontery of that ungrateful colored man. After everything that we’ve done for him... How could he steal from us?” 

“Steal from us?” Thea asked even more incredulously. The words kept pouring out of her mouth in exasperation. “Mr. Diggle did no such thing! Yes, he did flee to the mountains, but that was to warn his friend, a Kinanyao warrior, about an imminent danger. He only came back with his friend to help my friend Roy Harper find Ms. Lyla, who had gone missing a few days ago. They merely tracked her whereabouts back to our estate. Unfortunately, they were caught before they could find and rescue her.”

“You mean, Ms. Lyla Michaels, the store owner from Christentown?” Moira asked for clarification.

“Yes,” Thea answered definitively. “Father had his men kidnap her. I still don’t know why, though. But it’s true. I saw her in the stables, bound and locked up with Mr. Diggle, when I helped Roy distract the guards.”

Moira Merlyn was taken aback, a sharp intake of air fairly audible to Thea who was standing near the door of her mother’s room. For a moment, she paced near the foot of her four-posted bed. 

“That… that can’t be true,” she finally responded. “Your father told me that John Diggle had stolen from the profits of the sale of our recent tobacco shipment, that he had fled from our store in town days ago. Malcolm had Yao Fei and his men find him and bring him back, and they did.”

“Forgive me, Mother, but I have to say that you have been fed with nothing but worthless lies,” Thea replied, her eyes stung by bitter tears that soon fell down her cheeks. “You, of all people, should know that _he_ has always been capable of lies.”

Moira’s chest heaved, her hands balled in fists at her side. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but she knew that her daughter was right. Her husband Malcolm was a pathological liar. He had always been, and she had known this since the day she agreed to marry him.

* * *

Moira Dearden Queen had had no choice but to accept Malcolm Merlyn’s offer of marriage when she was widowed.

Malcolm himself had accompanied the constable of Paradise Point and knocked on her door to deliver the devastating news of the ambush that killed her husband, then Governor-General Robert Queen. Her heart had been broken, her hopes for a wonderful future for her family shattered to smithereens. She would never forget the sound of Malcolm’s voice, for it had been he, not the constable, who had broken the news that her ten-year-old son Oliver had also perished in the attack. She had broken down in anguish in their presence, and it was Malcolm’s shoulder that she had leaned on ever since. He had attended to all the funeral details, for she had been much overtaken by sorrow to refuse his help – and that, even if she had reason to doubt his sincerity because of a secret past that they had shared. 

Just a month after she had buried her beloved Robert, Malcolm had proposed. She had accepted immediately, because by that time, she had already found out that she was pregnant with Robert’s second child. A blue-blooded widow with an unborn child on the way should not have to live alone in a strange place far away from home and family. Especially not one who had had an affair with Malcolm Merlyn in Starling City, back when their sons were but boys and playmates, when her husband had been away on a navy ship for far too long. Malcolm had been quite convincing, all the more so because his arguments had felt more like threats – the kind that would expose her past infidelity not only to the crème de la crème in Paradise Point, but also to her in-laws in Starling City who had the influence to have her inheritance revoked. Malcolm had offered her a deal, and she had taken it. He offered her a marriage, a home, and a name for her child; in other words, he had become her security. In exchange, he had asked for her loyalty and support as he established himself among the elite in Paradise Point, the same group of politicians, military and naval officers, and influential merchants that had helped Robert Queen secure his post as the immediate past governor-general. 

It had been a fairly reasonable bargain that she had struck with him. Except, she had lived the last fifteen years of her life trapped in a loveless, miserable marriage to a man who only thought about how to amass wealth and seize as much power as he could, regardless of who got in his way, and usually using methods devoid of ethics or compassion. Needless to say, she had always been unhappy even though she never lacked material possessions and had gained even more prestige in society. Her worst misgiving was that of subjecting her darling daughter to such a life. She deserved all the misfortunes that had befallen her since she set foot on this island – and all because of one pathetic moment of indiscretion when she had given in to Malcolm’s advances many years ago, and one tragic moment of loss when her husband and son were brutally murdered by native warriors. But Thea… Moira knew that her daughter, Robert Queen’s only heir – or so she thought – deserved better. Moira had carried the burden of guilt all these years.

* * *

Now, the truth in Thea’s words pierced her soul like a poison-tipped dagger. Her daughter’s voice broke her out of her resentful rumination.

“Mother? What have you to say?” 

Moira remained silent. She swallowed hard, not knowing how to respond to her daughter’s accusation that her husband was a habitual liar that couldn’t be trusted. She refused to either confirm or deny it.

Thea stared long and hard at her mother, wondering how she could still defend an evil man either by another usual rebuttal or by her dumb silence. When she finally spoke, her words were resolute and sharp. 

“How can you still defend him, stand by him, when all he’s ever done is lie to us and treat us like his pawns?”

Moira could not look her daughter in the eye. She turned away, retreating to the window. She did not want her daughter to see her cry. Again. She had seen enough of her mother’s tears in her short, sad life of vain compliance.

“Why, Mother? Why are you so afraid of him?” Thea asked further, her voice trembling in anger and sheer frustration. “Does he threaten you like he threatens the people who stand in his way? All he ever does is oppress the weak and take what he can from those who aren’t able to fight back. What does that make him? He’s not just a liar, he’s a thief! And now, he’s kidnapped an innocent woman and falsely accused a faithful servant!”

Moira abruptly turned to face Thea and berated her. “Do not speak about your father that way!”

“Father?!” Thea interjected in protest. “Malcolm Merlyn may have provided everything I needed since the day I was born, but that does not make him a father. As far back as I could remember, he has never made me feel loved or important. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him. Even now, as I am about to come out, all that he is concerned about is to find me the perfect match among the rich and famous. And for what? For his own advantage! I wish… I wish I was someone else’s daughter…” Thea’s voice died on her lips at those words.

Moira had heard enough, and deep inside her heart she knew, she knew that Thea was the one telling the truth, and she could no longer keep her tears at bay. Overcome by emotions, she took a few swift strides across the room and captured her daughter in a crushing embrace. “Oh, Thea,” she whispered as she sobbed, her tears falling on the crown of her daughter’s brown head. “I’m sorry… I am so, so sorry.”

“Please believe me, Mother. I’m telling you the truth,” Thea pleaded, as Moira rubbed her back to comfort them both.

“I know. Believe me, I know.” Moira pulled backed and asked, “Did young Roy Harper tell you all these things?”

“Roy’s story had only confirmed what the other prisoner in our cellar had already told me yesterday afternoon, before dinner. That’s when I knew that the strange man was telling the truth about Father,” replied Thea.

“What strange man? Another prisoner?” asked Moira. 

At first, she was baffled and frantic, but her response to Thea’s new information soon changed. She became upset, even frustrated with herself upon realizing that indeed there were so many things happening in her own property that she did not know about. Her daughter had aided a peasant, and they had gone secretly to free her husband’s prisoners – prisoners that had been bound in their stables in the last couple of days without her knowledge. Her own husband did not even trust her anymore now, and he had ordered that she and Thea be locked up in her room until he himself came for them. And now, Thea is telling her that there is a strange man being held captive down in their wine cellar. She knew it in her bones that her husband was capable of such things.

Thea answered, “Yes, Mother. There is another prisoner down in the wine cellar. He’s Mr. Diggle’s friend, and he’s injured.” 

Thea went on to narrate what had happened, before her father’s men had caught her sneaking out of the stables and making her way back to the villa just as Roy had gotten the prisoners out safely. “I stumbled upon this man when you asked me to fetch a bottle of wine for dinner. At first, I didn’t know whether I should believe him or not, but… But there was just something about him, Mother. Somehow, I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me, so instead of running away and asking for help or telling you, I spoke with him.” 

Thea paused, and then she continued. “Oddly, I felt an instant connection with this very strange man. He was the one who told me about Ms. Lyla’s kidnapping. He and Mr. Diggle had come here simply to find her and get her out safely. He told me that all of this was Father’s doing. He asked for my help either to escape or to locate Ms. Lyla in the estate, and I promised him that I would do the latter, because it was more reasonable to do so, what with the number of Father’s men guarding the villa. Only, I ran into Roy before I could bring him any news.” She took a deep breath and added, “For some unexplainable reason, I just knew that I could trust this strange man.”

“Thea, why do you keep calling him a strange man?” Moira had to ask.

“Oh, Mother, you have to see him for yourself! He’s dressed in tribal clothes and looks like the Kinanyao in every way – long, braided hair, and tattoos on his arms, and scars on his shirtless body, which I presume were because he was a warrior of some sort. But his eyes were blue as the sea. His hair was a sandy blonde. And his skin was white, just like ours – a bit more reddish, perhaps because of the sun, but white, nonetheless. And he conversed with me in English! He didn’t speak much, just enough for us to understand each other. Sure, his appearance was nothing short of queer, but I couldn’t find it in myself to be afraid of him or be repulsed by him. He was… he was actually very kind. I couldn’t imagine why in the world Father would want to hurt him.”

A million thoughts raced in Moira’s head as her heart pounded in her chest like the sound of the hoofs of a herd of horses. A white man whose appearance was more Kinanyao than anything else... Could it be? 

She stepped back and moved away from Thea to sit on her bed. When she had found her voice, she asked softly and tentatively, “How old do you think this man is, Thea?”

Thea looked at her mother, confused as to why the strange man’s age was of any significance in the matter at hand. Even then, she still answered her mother, saying, “It’s hard to tell. As I mentioned, his appearance is quite strange. As best as I could tell, he’s a young man older than twenty, but not as young as Roy. I can’t exactly recall his name as it was pretty much foreign to my ears. He said that he was raised by the Kinanyao, but his real parents were white people.”

Moira’s next breath wavered as it escaped her quivering lips. More tears pooled in her eyes as a myriad of emotions inundated her heart. Could it really be? After all these years…

Malcolm Merlyn was indeed a liar. But of all his lies, this was the one she could never forgive him for. Moira knew right then and there which side she was going to be on from henceforth.

She wiped the tears on her cheek with a laced handkerchief from her dress pocket, schooled her features, and then stood up, straightening her previously sagging shoulders and smoothing the wrinkles on her skirt. She looked at Thea with determined eyes and said, “Listen to me very carefully, Thea.” Thea nodded. She then told her daughter, “We have to get out of here and help that man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be one more chapter after this one, and then the finale, which will be split into two chapters.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daring rescues succeed. Almost. Who would make it out of the Merlyn estate alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is -- the Finale (part 1). This chapter is the longest one, and perhaps the one with the most action. Enjoy!

Wandatu had never been the kind of man that wallowed – no, not in sorrow, self-pity, or even regret. His conscience had agonized upon realizing how he had been deceived and manipulated by Yao Fei for the past few years, no doubt in connivance with the sinister Malcolm Merlyn – the avaricious foreign businessman who had seized this Kinanyao clan’s ancestral land and claimed it as his own. The remorse he’d felt had been momentary, having ended when the first sign of rescue and only chance of escape had presented itself at the arrival of a young white female that distracted the guards in the stable where he, the dark-skinned foreigner who was Asintado’s friend, and another white woman (which he presumed was the one they had gone searching for) were being held captive, allowing them all to escape with the help of another young white male that appeared to be a friend of his fellow-captives. As soon as the abaca rope that bound his wrists to a post had been cut by the young rescuer and his bonds were loosed, Wandatu had resolved that he would channel his anger and use it to right his wrongs. He was a man of action, often spurred by his impulsive nature, hot-temperedness, and most of all, his pride, which was why he now made his way slowly and surreptitiously to the huge villa on the vast estate in search of his halfbrother, Asintado.

The young woman and the guards at the stable gate had disappeared from view while the other young man that had rescued them was trying to free his fellow-captives. When Wandatu was freed, he had nodded in thanks, not knowing how best to communicate his gratitude. The first thing that he had thought of was to ask the dark-skinned man about the whereabouts of Asintado.

“Asintado?” he had inquired with a very distinctly Kinanyao accent.

“Asintado was caught by Yao Fei. He is being kept inside the big house,” the dark-skinned man had answered, pointing in the direction of the villa. “We have to go. Now. We need to get this woman and this young man to safety. Then we will come back for Asintado.”

Although Wandatu did not understand a word of what the dark-skinned man had said to him, he somehow understood from their posture that they planned to flee to safety immediately. He, on the other hand, had refused to leave his half-brother in the hands of the enemy, especially since among them he was the only one who knew that Asintado’s wife was also a prisoner somewhere in the villa.

“Ha-an!” Wandatu had adamantly protested, shaking his head vigorously to express disapproval of their plan. He had added in Kinanyao, “I will not leave Asintado here. I have to go and get him. And his wife!”

* * *

John Diggle, Lyla Michaels, and Roy Harper had not known how to react to the tribal warrior’s intense protest. Their plan had apparently upset the man, who had begun to move away from them, in the direction that John had pointed towards.

John had thought it wise not to further expose Ms. Lyla and Roy to more danger. He hadn’t meant to abandon his friend completely. But it had seemed that way to Asintado’s half-brother, for anger had been evident in his eyes and in every taut muscle on the warrior’s body. John was about to explain himself and his plan better to the man when Roy had noticed a commotion from outside the stable and quickly peeked from the gate that had been ajar.

“No…” Roy had whispered, but it had come out louder than intended, alerting his companions that something had gone wrong. “The guards suspect something. They want to take Ms. Thea to her father in the villa,” he had informed the others. “What are we going to do?” he had asked, turning back to his friends.

“No harm is going to come upon the young Ms. Merlyn, boy,” Lyla Michaels had replied. “Mr. Merlyn wouldn’t hurt his own child. I’m sure this is just a big--”

John had sternly looked her way with disapprobation. What she had seen in his eyes had been enough for her not to continue what she was about to say. He had then gone on to tell Roy that there wasn’t much that they could do for Merlyn’s daughter at the moment, and that it was suicidal – not risky – for unarmed and outnumbered men like them to storm the villa just to get their friends out. Roy had heeded the older man’s counsel and agreed to stick with the plan.

“Once they reach the villa and tell Mr. Merlyn that they’ve caught his daughter snooping around, Mr. Merlyn will no doubt suspect that something is wrong and send more men back here,” John had told them. Turning to Roy, and pointing to the two guards that had lain unconscious on the ground inside the stable with them, John had said, “Soon they’ll find those bodies that you had rendered unconscious with the shovel. I’m sure Mr. Merlyn and Yao Fei will order their men to hunt us down. We have to leave right now so that we could have a head start. Hopefully, they won’t catch us. We’ll go up to the mountains and get help from the tribe.”

It had been a sound plan, but upon hearing the name of Yao Fei uttered by the dark-skinned man, Wandatu had made up his mind. Under no circumstance was he leaving the Merlyn estate without his half-brother. His father, the Chief, would never forgive him. He would never forgive himself. The rescue of Asintado was not only his chance at redemption, it was also the right thing to do. Despite his dismal failure at safeguarding his tribe’s welfare because of his blind arrogance and unabashed resentment towards his half-brother that their enemies had used to their advantage, Wandatu still treasured his people. He was not about to risk Asintado’s life, nor that of his wife. He owed them that much after all the trouble he’d caused them. If he needed to give his life in order to ensure that the Chief’s favored son – the tribe’s future leader by the will of the gods and of his father – would not die at the hands of a traitor and a fiendish foreigner, Wandatu was willing to pay the price.

The sun had barely cast its first rays over the horizon when John, Lyla, and Roy had fled towards the mountains as swiftly as they could, intending to reach the village and implore Chief Muidatu’s help to rescue Asintado and his wife. The trek down the mountains normally took half a day on foot without having to carry burdens, but it would take them longer than that going up. Still, they believed that they had to take the chance and bring back help from the tribe before Merlyn and Yao Fei decide the fate of the prisoners in the villa who were their friends.

* * *

Wandatu drew nearer the huge house where the young white man had said Asintado was being held prisoner. He had remained hidden in a small water shed at the right side of the house during the commotion, when Malcolm Merlyn had been informed of the escape of the prisoners in the stables and had ordered the manhunt that had sent most of his men away from the villa in frantic search for the escapees. As soon as the commotion had died down and he was sure that the man whom he presumed was Malcolm Merlyn had gone back into the house, he had made his move towards the back of the house, knocking down and breaking the neck of the only guard standing vigil outside the kitchen door. Gripping the machete that he had found lying around in the stable beforehand, he entered the house quietly through the kitchen and slowly made his way to locate Asintado and his wife. He wasn’t sure where to begin looking, seeing he was vaguely familiar with a white man’s enormous dwelling, and he also understood nothing of the language that the young man Roy had used when telling the rest of them where Asintado and his wife could possibly be.

It was still quite dark inside the house. Only a few candles that had been lit from the night before were providing minimal illumination, since none of the servants had yet arrived to begin their morning tasks. (With everything that was happening, it seemed that only Yao Fei’s and Merlyn’s men were allowed inside the house.) Wandatu was careful with his movements, avoiding any light source and casting shadows that would betray him to his enemies. He lurked like the skilled warrior that he had been raised and trained to become.

As he was about to round the corner that led to the narrow hallway to the cellar, he heard a foreigner speaking loudly and angrily. To him it sounded like the man was ordering his men to do something. Hiding behind the thick, tasseled curtains nearby, he saw the same white man (whom he assumed was Merlyn) send Yao Fei and two men down the hallway while he himself ascended the stairs to the second floor of the villa. Immediately he speculated that following those men would lead them to the prisoners whose lives he must save. Wandatu waited for the perfect opportunity to strike.

* * *

Meanwhile upstairs, Malcolm Merlyn opened the door to his wife’s bedroom with his key. He found Moira and Thea sitting on the bed, both in tears and obviously upset about something. He easily dismissed it as them trying to cope with Thea having been caught aiding his enemies, and having been locked up in the room.

“I have to leave immediately for Paradise Point on business. Both of you will remain here in the meantime. Yao Fei and his men will escort you in another carriage later this morning and bring you to the city to join me. Understood?”

Instead of acknowledging him, Moira stood up from being seated on her bed with her daughter Thea. With a stern, defiant face she said to her husband, “You! You lied to me. All these years. You told me my son had died in that ambush, but you lied. Why? What did my family ever do to you to deserve all this?!”

Malcolm was taken aback for a moment, unable to speak. He was stunned at how quickly Moira had been able to figure things out even if she hadn’t seen the prisoner in the wine cellar. Putting things together in his head, he realized that Thea must have known about the “stranger” down there, which explains why she had helped the captives in the stables to escape. He glared at his wife’s daughter, and if looks could kill, he would have already murdered one of Robert Queen’s legitimate heirs.

Taking a deep breath, Malcolm turned his deathly stare at his wife. Sneering at her, he said, “I knew I was right to make you my wife. You not only possess the beauty and elegance needed to ensure our place in society. You are also quite intelligent, my dear, but ironically gullible as well.”

“Then you do not deny it?! You are worse than I thought!” Moira exclaimed, anger and disgust lacing her sobbing voice. “What kind of man are you?”

“A monster! That is what he is, Mother,” Thea answered instead. She too was crying, but the tears could not stop her from lashing out at the evil man that she had been made to believe was her father all her life. “The only reason that he would lie about the ambush that supposedly killed my… my real father… and my… my older brother is if he had something to do with it.” She was talking to her mother, but her intense stare was directed towards Malcolm. But what she said next, she definitely made sure he understood that she was addressing him.

“You had them killed, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!”

“Yes!” Malcolm yelled back. “Yes, I had them killed. I ordered Yao Fei to instigate the warriors into ambushing Robert’s traveling party. He was getting in my way.” His confession was devoid of remorse.

“Why? I thought you and Robert had become friends,” Moira stated.

“Friends? Ha!” Malcolm huffed scornfully. “We were barely friends, Moira. You knew that. How could a man be friends with his wife’s old flame?”

Moira wept even more bitterly. For years, she had carried her guilt over the extramarital affair early on in her marriage with Robert Queen, but this time it was harder to swallow and almost impossible to live with when her daughter was present to hear it. She really couldn’t breathe.

Malcolm continued, “That fateful day, Robert wasn’t just coming to see me in Christentown on business. I knew he was also coming to confront me about the affair. Somehow, he had known all along, but he had kept quiet about it, especially since I left Starling and settled here. But when he accepted the appointment to be governor-general of the colony and brought you here, he knew that he… and you… would inevitably move in the same circles I was part of here. Your husband must have still considered me competition for him to suspect my charm and doubt your fidelity. Of course, it didn’t help that he was about to sign a new law that would limit foreigners from buying out ancestral lands on the island. I couldn’t let him spoil my expansion plans.”

“So, you just had them murdered!” Moira screamed. “Robert was innocent. And Oliver was just a boy!”

“Hold your tongue, woman! If you know what’s good for you, you will do as you are told. You and your daughter will be locked up in here until Yao Fei comes for you, and then you will go--”

The unmistakable sounds of a physical skirmish from downstairs suddenly caught Malcolm’s attention, causing him to discontinue the heated argument with his wife and step-daughter. He had to go see to it. He could not afford to lose his most valuable prisoner, or he would lose his leverage over Dr. Palmer.

* * *

Wandatu was supposed to follow Yao Fei and his men down the cellar and engage them, if necessary, to retrieve Asintado. Emerging from his hiding place behind the curtains, between the hallway and the living room, he intercepted the armed guard that was restraining Felicity to bring her to the carriage that was waiting in front of the villa where Dr. Palmer already was being kept. The guard did not put up much of a fight against the warrior, and Wandatu had easily prevailed  
over the man and killed him, slamming the man head first against the wall. Felicity was thankful that Wandatu did not have to use the machete to put the man down; otherwise, she might have to deal with nightmares of such a gruesome scene from then on.

“Asintado?” Wandatu asked her.

“He’s down in the cellar, that way,” Felicity replied, her heart beating wildly as she pointed in the direction of the hallway that led to where she had left Oliver in a standoff with Yao Fei. “Hurry, Wandatu! Yao Fei is going to kill Asintado.”

He did not understand her English, but he knew that the names Yao Fei and Asintado were a dangerous combination. He moved towards the hallway, but he remembered that he couldn’t leave Felicity defenseless in the living room alone. So, he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her down the hallway with him to the entrance of the cellar.

On their mad rush to save Oliver, they passed by Malcolm Merlyn’s study. A quick glance by Felicity in that direction revealed something worth stopping for. On the solid wood desk at the far end of the room lay Oliver’s bow and quiver of arrows. “Wait!” Felicity told Wandatu, tugging at him. “Look, Oliver’s bow and arrows!” Wandatu nodded and gestured for her to get them, and she did. As they left the study room, they heard noises from the cellar and scurried to Oliver’s rescue. “Yao Fei found him,” Felicity thought to herself.

When they reached the top of the rickety stairway, they saw Oliver and Yao Fei engaged in handto-hand combat down below. Somehow, Oliver had managed to disarm the master archer and now he was fighting for his life. Both men had broken wine bottles and held them as weapons, one in each hand. Oliver’s shirtless body already had two fresh cuts – one on his chest near his stitched-up wound, and another on his arm – while Yao Fei had a deep, bleeding cut on his left cheek.

Wandatu’s biggest mistake was to draw Oliver’s attention away from his opponent when he exclaimed, “Yao Fei!” actually intending to distract the traitorous Kinanyao. Yao Fei had only momentarily looked away. But Oliver, upon looking upwards to where the voice came from, saw Felicity and his gaze had lingered to make sure she was alright. That was when Yao Fei attacked Oliver by surprise and struck him down with a round-house kick to the jaw. Oliver crashed backwards against empty wine crates. Before he was able to gather his wits and bounce back, Yao Fei came at him, ready to deliver the fatal blow and to thrust the sharp glass shard of a wine bottle down his throat.

“No!” Felicity screamed, covering her face with the palms of her hands. She could not watch her beloved murdered like so.

After a second that felt like an eternity of anguish, Felicity uncovered her face, albeit unprepared to see the tragic fate that had befallen her beloved Oliver. There on the cold stone floor of the cellar lay the lifeless body of Yao Fei, a machete protruding from the back of his neck. She would definitely have nightmares of the scene before her, but no matter, her husband was alive, thanks to Wandatu’s keen reflex, sheer strength, and impeccable aim.

Felicity and Wandatu sprinted down the stairs to Oliver’s side. After making sure he was alright – the fresh cuts not so deep as to endanger his life – they lifted him up to his feet. They helped him up the stairs, and then he told them that he could manage to walk on his own.

* * *

They made it out of the cellar as far as the hallway. But in the foyer leading to the front door of the villa, four armed men met them and forced them back into the living room. Oliver fired two successive arrows that put down two of the men, while Wandatu fought another man hand-to-hand. The fourth man dashed towards Oliver as he fired the arrows, so Oliver had to lower his bow and use it to fight his attacker. Felicity stood afar off to avoid getting caught in the middle of the scuffle.

Wandatu subdued his opponent and was about to help Oliver with the last armed guard when a shot was fired. But it wasn’t an arrow.

“Bang!”

Oliver turned and saw Wandatu fall to his knees, blood oozing out of his shoulder.

“Bang!”

Another shot was fired to make sure he didn’t survive. The second bullet went straight into the back of his head.

“Wandatu!” Oliver cried with a loud voice.

Malcolm Merlyn shot his half-brother twice, in cold blood, with his back turned. To the Kinanyao, that was the epitome of cowardice.

Oliver’s jaw clenched. His shaking hand balled into a fist, and with his other hand he gripped his bow tightly. He smote his last opponent with a mighty blow to the head. He did not even wait for the man to fall onto the floor unconscious. He turned and rushed to the grand stairway where Malcolm Merlyn stood midway.

Malcolm aimed at Oliver this time and pulled the trigger of his pistol.

Felicity’s scream echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room, but Oliver kept running, his bow at the ready.

Shocked that he had apparently run out of bullets and internally berating himself for not making sure that his pistol was fully loaded, Malcolm Merlyn quickly retreated to the top of the stairs, pulling out a knife from a hidden sheath behind his back. When he reached the very top, he grabbed Thea from behind the wall where he had left her and Moira standing and pointed the knife at her throat.

“Stop!” Malcolm yelled.

Oliver stopped dead in his tracks, for he immediately recognized the young lady that had come to his aid the day before. She was crying, struggling to break free from Merlyn’s hold. Oliver thought she was a fighter, so much like him.

“Drop your bow! Do not come any closer, or your pretty little sister will die,” Malcolm threatened.

Oliver and Felicity both gasped at the sudden, puzzling revelation. Oliver responded, “My sister? What are you saying?”

“I see I’ve caught you by surprise, savage warrior.” Malcolm laughed with disdain. “What do the natives call you again… Asintado? Sounds fierce. It suits you, really. Better than Oliver Queen. Maybe your sister ought to change her name as well. After all, you both take after your father. Courage runs in your blood even when you are at a disadvantage.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed and his forehead crinkled. His pectoral muscles twitched as his teeth clenched. His internal struggle over this new revelation was physically palpable.

“What? You don’t believe me?” Malcolm continued to scorn. “Maybe you should ask your mother.”

“My mother?” Oliver murmured.

Malcolm turned his head but kept the knife pointed at Thea’s neck. “Moira…” he called firmly, and his wife emerged from behind the wall. Her hands were bound with a rope, just like Thea’s were.

Oliver took in a sharp breath upon seeing the sandy blonde woman at the top of the stairs. The woman he had remembered calling ‘Mother’ had aged. Her face bore traces of wrinkles that were evident from a distance, and a characteristic sadness filled her eyes. Nevertheless, she was just as he remembered her, when his memories began to return. And indeed, Moira was his mother’s name.

Moira opened her mouth and spoke softly, “Oliver, my beautiful boy. After all these years… It’s unbelievable, but it’s… It’s you…”

His mother was weeping. Her eyes implored him to believe what Merlyn had just revealed, and begged him to forgive her for sins he did not yet even know of but that she had always mourned over. As mother and son looked deep into each other’s identical eyes, Oliver believed.

“You are my mother,” he uttered, his own voice trembling now, for he was on the verge of tears. It was meant to be a question, but it came out more as a humble declaration.

“Yes, I am,” Moira acknowledged. “And this here, is your younger sister, Thea. You both are the children of Robert Queen, heirs of the Queen name and the estate in Starling City in America.”

* * *

In the midst of chaos and the imminent threat to their lives, Oliver’s heart soared with mirth at the realization that he still had a mother. She had survived all these years that they had been separated. Moreover, he had a sibling, a younger sister that was so brave and bold as to have aided him when he was a complete stranger to her. He knew that they had had an instantaneous connection. This, this was the final piece of the puzzle that gave him a complete picture of his origin, his identity, and his father’s legacy.

Felicity felt warm all over, strangely happy despite their current predicament. She was happy for her husband. He had a family after all. She wasn’t all that he had from his heritage as a foreigner on the island. He had a mother and a sister, too. As his wife, this also implied that she had a family as well. She had lost her father, but now she had a mother-in-law and a sister-in-law that she would love to get to know. The prospect of a brighter future for their newfound family made her want to survive this ordeal even more.

Moira made a move to descend the steps and meet his son halfway, but Malcolm did not allow it. Still pointing the knife at Thea’s neck, he let go of her waist and blocked Moira’s way with his free arm, holding her back. “Oh, no you don’t. Let’s just save the heartfelt reunion for later, shall we?”

“Let my family go, Merlyn,” Oliver said slowly. His voice was low but clear.

“Please, Malcolm,” Moira pleaded. “Stop this madness and just let my children go. I will go with you and do whatever you want.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” Malcolm replied.

Turning to Oliver, he said sternly, “Here’s what you’re going to do. You are going to stand down. Put down your bow, or your sister will die under my knife. You are going to let me leave this house with your wife, and in exchange, I am going to leave your mother and sister and let the three of you go free, relatively unscathed, that is, if you manage to get past the remaining armed guards on the estate. Fair deal, isn’t it? Actually, the deal is in your favor, since I am giving you two loved ones in exchange for one.” Malcolm gave out a wicked laugh. “I am truly sorry that it had to be this way. I’m sure your new wife is special to you, but I really do need her for my future plans.”

Oliver took a few steps backwards and down the steps as Felicity moved to stand behind him. He needed her near and to feel her near, now that she was the object of Malcolm’s threats. He reached back to hold her hand with his hand that did not hold the bow.

As Oliver contemplated on what his next course of action would be, reinforcements entered the front door. One of the men guarding the carriage and the horses in front of the house, as well as the armed guards that had returned from an unsuccessful manhunt, made their way to the room where the standoff at the grand stairway was, and now they aimed their pistols and rifles at him and Felicity.

Oliver had just gotten his wife and family back even if he had lost his half-brother in the process. He almost had Malcolm Merlyn subdued. But fate continued to play a cruel game. If he made a move, the guards would shoot him, and surely at least one of them would succeed at making him the target even if he succeeds in shooting Malcolm with an arrow. On the other hand, if he agreed to the exchange, he might lose his wife for good, and there was no guarantee that he, his mother and sister would be able to get out of the estate alive. It was not a fair exchange; it was a lose-lose situation, and he knew it.

He squeezed Felicity’s hand and muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear, “Do you trust me?”

She whispered near his ear, “I trust you with my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of this finale will be posted as a separate chapter tomorrow. Thank you so much for reading and following this story. It really means a lot, especially since this is already a re-post. I hope this has been a pleasant journey for you. :-)


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver has a plan, and he does everything in his power to see it through. But not without help from the people that matter, especially her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised - the Finale (part 2). I also wish you would let me know how this story has been for you ever since you started reading, as we are about to bid this fic farewell. It sure would be nice to know. :-)

Oliver let go of Felicity’s hand and lowered his bow. “Alright,” he said, looking up to Malcolm Merlyn, who still held hostage his mother Moira and his sister Thea. Thea was still being held at knife point. Oliver then put down his bow, and in a swift, fluid movement, he removed the quiver full of arrows from his body, unobtrusively slipping his fingers adeptly into the hidden compartment at the bottom where he had always kept spare arrowheads for unexpected, urgent situations.

“No more bow and arrows. Now, let them go,” Oliver told Merlyn, looking straight into his enemy’s scornful eyes.

“Very smart choice, indeed,” replied Merlyn. “Bid your wife farewell now, savage lad. I am willing to wager my entire estate that you will never see her again.” He laughed derisively.

Oliver restrained himself from acting on impulse and attacking Merlyn on the spot. Instead, he turned and took a one step down the stairs to say goodbye to Felicity. He cupped one side of her face with his right hand – the one that was in full view of everyone else in the room.

He gazed at his Blue Eyes affectionately, a small smile playing on his lips. He wanted to comfort her with loving and reassuring words to keep her from crying, but he was too late. Felicity’s tears had already pooled in her eyes, and as he began to speak, they rolled down her soft-skinned cheeks.

“Do not believe him,” he told her earnestly. “I _will_ come for you. No matter what happens, I _will_ find you.” She nodded, her lower lip caught between her teeth. As he spoke, he lifted his left hand and touched her upper arm with it. She winced at the feeling of his hand sliding down her arm until their hands met. Squeezing a hard, coarse object firmly against her palm, he added, “At the proper time, you must be brave. I love you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Felicity answered affirmatively. A sigh escaped her lips just before she added, “I love you.” She closed her eyes as Oliver planted a chaste kiss on her forehead, and then he let go of her hand.

At Merlyn’s command, his men took Felicity and dragged her through the foyer, out of the front door, and into the carriage where Dr. Palmer was already bound and guarded. Merlyn untied Thea and Moira and shoved them both towards Oliver. He hurriedly left the villa and hopped into the carriage, which was loaded with things he needed to accomplish his plans in the city.

Just before Malcolm yelled the command to leave to the coachman, he ordered one of his armed guards that had led the manhunt earlier – a bearded man with a patched eye and a low, gravelly voice: “Take care of the bodies. And clean up the house quickly, before the servants start arriving from their quarters. Take the rest of the armed men, and take my wife and her… children… to the abandoned military post, and deal with them there. You know what to do.” The armed guard signified that he understood the order.

As the sun rose above the horizon, well beyond the break of dawn, the carriage sped off in the direction of the mountain pass that connected Christentown to Paradise Point. With it were seven other armed men on horseback as Merlyn’s escorts.

* * *

It was not exactly the reunion the Queens would have wished for. Moira had wanted to embrace her only son, whom she had believed had been dead for fifteen years, and ask him to tell her how he had survived and lived all this time. Thea had wanted to tell him how sorry she was for not having returned to him sooner, thinking that perhaps all of these horrific events that have just transpired could have been prevented if she had done better the night before. Oliver, on the other hand, had not thought of anything but their survival and safety in the last few minutes, since the astounding revelation that he still had a family after all. He had a plan, but he needed them to cooperate.

The first thing that Oliver would have told them when Malcolm Merlyn roughly shoved them down a couple of steps towards him was, “Go up. Stay in your room. Be safe.” However, he did not get the chance to do so. Not only were the pistols and rifles of about ten remaining armed men still pointed at them; less than a minute after Malcolm stormed out of the villa, the three of them were being dragged through the front door at gunpoint, while three other men were left to take care of the bodies of the men that had fallen, including those of Yao Fei and Wandatu.

“Where are you taking us?” Moira demanded to know, but not one of the men spoke.

They walked away from the villa, secured behind and before by Merlyn’s armed men. With his peripheral vision, Oliver could see that a tall, bearded white man with a patched eye was carrying his bow and quiver. He was willing to risk his life and take on ten armed men with his bare hands and feet, but he stood a better chance against them with his weapon. He wondered how he could get to them and when he would make a move. He knew he needed to exercise extra care to ensure that no harm would come upon his mother and sister, who might get caught in the middle of a blood bath.

As they approached the gate of the estate, Oliver took silent, deep breaths and steadied himself, preparing his mind and body for a surprise attack on the two guards that walked between him and the one-eyed man. He was about to strike the one walking behind him with an elbow to the face when he heard a familiar bird call. He recognized the sound, but he did not stop walking; instead, he closed his eyes and sighed in relief. He would have smiled, but he reined in his emotions so as not to give away his excitement. It seemed that the God that Felicity and her father believed in had heard his prayer earlier. Help had come, and it was just a matter of minutes, maybe less, before they had the chance to be freed. Merlyn’s men had no inkling of the impending doom that was to come upon them.

As soon as the last three guards behind them passed through the gate of the estate, the first arrow flew in the air and hit its intended target in the neck. The bearded, one-eyed man fell to the ground and breathed his last. When the other guards saw it, they panicked and sought to fight, but they saw no one around them. Another arrow flew, hitting the man nearest Oliver in the chest. That was when Oliver made his move and struck the guard near him. The other guards made a move to restrain him and keep him from escaping, but scarcely had they touched a hair on his head when Kinanyao warriors emerged from their hiding places in the foliage and attacked them with arrows, spears, and machetes.

Oliver immediately led his mother and sister to a nearby tree to take cover. He then ran back to pick up his bow and quiver and to help his fellow warriors subdue their captors. Moira and Thea watched as Oliver and his fellow warriors put down the armed guards one by one. The element of surprise had worked to the advantage of the Kinanyao. Not a single shot had been fired from the pistols and rifles of Merlyn’s men. There were no casualties among Oliver and the warriors.

When the bodies of Merlyn’s men finally lay lifeless on the ground, Oliver counted just four other warriors standing in the midst of the carnage. “Thank you for coming to my aid, brothers,” Oliver said in native Kinanyao language. The men placed their right fists on their left chests and nodded in acknowledgement of his expression of gratitude for saving his life and those of her mother’s and sister’s.

In the distance, they heard the sound of horses’ hoofs pounding against the ground, coming from inside the estate. They saw Big John Diggle and young Roy Harper riding horses, each one guiding a horse alongside his own.

“I see you’ve managed to put them all down,” Big John remarked, impressed at the feat. Five Kinanyao warriors had taken on armed men twice their number, and they had prevailed.

Big John dismounted and enveloped his friend in his huge arms. “I am glad you are safe.”

In response, Oliver said, “Thank you for your help, Big John. You brought Kinanyao back here?”

“Roy here helped us escape. Your half-brother insisted on staying behind to free you. We fled up the mountain and headed for the village to ask for help. We had gotten as far as the Kipot River when we met them,” Big John answered, pointing his chin in the direction of the warriors that stood beside Oliver. “Your father, the Chief, had sent them after us. The Chief had gotten concerned that no word had come from us since we left days ago. We told them that you were still being held at the estate, and they told us that Wandatu and Felicity had gone missing. I am happy that we got here just in time.”

“And your friend Lyla?” Oliver asked.

“Ms. Lyla is on her way to the village with one of the warriors. She will be safe there for now,” answered Big John as he sighed in relief. His relief was short-lived, however. Moira and Thea Queen had come out of hiding and had drawn near the group, but he did not see Felicity with them. With a frown, he asked, “Where is Felicity?”

“Merlyn took her to Paradise Point,” replied Oliver.

“I knew it,” said Big John. “From afar we saw the carriage leave the villa in a hurry, but I thought it was only Malcolm Merlyn fleeing. While the warriors set out to rescue you from the armed guards, Roy and I headed straight to the stables to get horses in case we wanted to go after him.”

Oliver spoke again, “We have to go after them.”

“But there are only four horses. We can’t all go after them on foot all the way to Paradise Point. We can’t overtake them,” Roy pointed out.

Oliver thought for a moment. He knew that time was of the essence. If he wanted to overtake the carriage, they had to leave now on horseback. If Merlyn reaches the city, it would be almost impossible for him to recover his wife, since Merlyn had a network of corrupt government and military officials there to help him.

He looked at Roy and said, “Thank you for everything.” He placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder and added, “But I need your help. One more time. Go with two Kinanyao men. Bring my mother and sister back to the village. Wait there. We will come for you.” Roy nodded and said, “I will.”

“Please be careful, Oliver,” Moira begged, moving to stand in front of her son. “Thea and I have just gotten you back. I don’t know if my heart could take another news of you dying.” Thea clung to her mother’s arm and looked at her older brother with the same pleading eyes.

Oliver nodded. “I will come back.”

The two women could no longer hold back their emotions. They said goodbye to Oliver by surrounding him with their embrace, after which, Roy and two of the warriors led them away towards the villa.

Turning to Oliver, Big John said, “Alright then, let’s go get your wife back.”

* * *

“Yes.” With one small word whispered in trust, Felicity had let her beloved know that she did understand what it was that he had wanted her to do. But as she sat in the carriage that sped down the mountain pass – the same one that she and her father had travelled on just more than a week ago – courage began to wane, and she was no longer sure if she could do it. What if Malcolm Merlyn discovered their ploy? What if she did not recognize Oliver’s signal when the time came? What if she lacked the bravery and resolve to follow through with the plan? What if she failed, and both she and the man she loved perished because of it? Those questions plagued her mind during the hasty flight to Paradise Point.

Ray Palmer had asked her if she was alright, but consumed by anxious thoughts, she had not even noticed him speaking to her. She had been busy staring outside the small window of the carriage. She also had not noticed Ray and Malcolm exchanging words of strife. Ray had tried reasoning with Malcolm to change his mind, casting doubt on his own ability to recreate his father’s atrocious scientific breakthrough. Malcolm, in turn, had threatened to harm Felicity if Ray fell short of his expectations and if Ray tried in any way to alert the authorities in Paradise Point. After an exercise in futility, Ray had given up and opted to remain speechless the rest of the way.

Felicity’s rumination had included whether or not she would see Oliver again and be reunited with her newfound family. She had no qualms whatsoever about his intent to go after her; she was sure that he would… if he made it out of the villa alive. She wanted so much to believe that he had made it out alive somehow, and she hoped that his mother and sister had, too. It took every ounce of her will power to choose not to doubt it. It helped that her palm could feel the hard, coarse, pointed object in her dress pocket. It reminded her that her husband would find a way. But it also reminded her of what she must do, when the right time came, and the thought of her failing worried her.

A loud voice ripped through her silent musing. “Mr. Merlyn, Sir!” cried one of the armed men on horseback, riding beside the carriage. “We have company!”

  
Malcolm Merlyn looked out the carriage window and saw men on horseback in pursuit about fifty meters behind them. He yelled back, “Tell the others to fall back and fight them off. You will ride with us.”

The armed guard signified his understanding of the order and shouted commands to his comrades. Merlyn ordered the coachman to go faster. He looked out the window again, and this time, he recognized the long-haired but white-skinned warrior leading the charge. He hissed a curse, realizing that he had once again underestimated the son of Robert Queen and of the Kinanyao chieftain.

This made Felicity’s heart soar with pride and hope. Oliver had indeed come for her. He had done his part, and it was now up to her to do hers at his signal. She could do this, she thought. The sound of the hoofs of horses in pursuit behind them was like music to her ears. A smile began to break out on her face. She didn’t care if Ray noticed or not how her cheeks blushed at the thought that her Oliver was on his way.

Malcolm Merlyn looked out the window as Oliver, John Diggle, and two other Kinanyao warriors rode behind them in hot pursuit, drawing closer by the second. He watched one of the warriors let his arrows fly, missing his armed men a couple of times. But when Oliver nocked an arrow and aimed, he shot one of Merlyn’s men, causing him to fall off his horse.

Seeing that they were down to six men, the other armed men retaliated, firing their pistols at Oliver and his friends, until a bullet grazed the arm of one of the warriors, who continued to ride on even with a bleeding arm.

Oliver turned to look at his injured fellow warrior, and he saw that the man would no longer be able to shoot his arrow efficiently with his good arm. Oliver knew they had to close the distance between them and the armed men so that his fellow warriors could try aiming at their enemies with a spear or a machete. Once again, he focused his vision straight ahead, kicking the side of his horse to make it gallop faster. When he was comfortable with the speed and his position, he let go of the horse’s rein and pulled out two arrows from his quiver. With a steady aim, he released his arrows at the same time. In a split-second, both arrows found their targets, hitting two armed men who were riding in close proximity simultaneously.

Merlyn was down to four men plus a coachman, and Oliver and his friends were gaining on them. Ray Palmer saw this as an opportunity to try something heroic. Eyeing the pistol beside the distracted Merlyn, Ray lunged forward and snatched it away, but Merlyn grabbed him by the wrist. A struggle ensued inside the carriage, and Felicity was caught in the middle of it. Malcolm and Ray were fighting for the pistol, which was pointed away from them, but unfortunately, at her. She tried to move away from the barrel’s aim, but the space inside the carriage was just too small for any of them to avoid a possible stray bullet.

* * *

Meanwhile, Oliver and his friends had caught up with the three men on horseback that were keeping them from reaching Merlyn’s carriage. The men were still shooting, but in fear of their attackers (as well as their lack of skill), they were not hitting their moving targets. The warriors saw this as the perfect opportunity to go on an offensive. One of them aimed and threw the spear in his hand, hitting one of the armed guards at the back. That man fell forward on his horse and was instantly killed. The other warrior flung his machete forcefully, and the blade of the weapon became embedded in the other guard’s shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain and fall off his horse.

Big John rode off swiftly and overtook the third armed man that had run out of bullets. When he was riding side by side with the man’s horse, John sprung from his horse and tackled the man, sending them both down to the ground with a rough and loud thud. They rolled on the ground and wrestled. The man kept punching at John’s hard, muscular torso, but John did not even flinch. With just a couple of punches of his own, John knocked his smaller opponent unconscious. One of the warriors slowed down and stopped to make sure that John was alright.

Oliver had also overtaken the escort that rode beside the carriage. He shot the man with an arrow and hit him in the arm. The man kept riding and pulled out a pistol from the holster that was tied around his waist. Before the man had the chance to fire it, Oliver rode closer and kicked his hand, and he dropped the weapon. Oliver pulled out another arrow from his quiver, and with a mighty thrust of his hand, he struck the man with the arrow, its pointed head going deep into the man’s flesh between his shoulder and his neck. The man fell back, unable to fight or to ride anymore.

Oliver rode even faster. He was going for the coachman, so that he could stop the carriage and get his wife out of Malcolm’s clutches.

* * *

Even in the midst of the struggle inside the carriage, Felicity saw through the window that Oliver was already riding beside them, trying to subdue the escort that now had an arrow sticking out of his arm. She saw him defeat the man and hop onto the front of the carriage. Now she could hear not just he grunts and groans of the two men inside the carriage with her, struggling for the pistol; she could also hear the grunts and groans of the two men fighting for control of the horses outside. She knew it was just a matter of time.

Just then, Felicity had an idea. At the proper timing, she thought she could unlatch the carriage door and kick Malcolm or Ray, or both of them, out of the moving vehicle. When she did, it had been Ray that had fallen off the carriage. It was a good thing that Ray had fallen as he did, for the pistol in Malcolm’s hand went off, the bullet going straight into the cushion of the seat where Ray had been just a second ago. Her former suitor might have fallen hard on the ground, but he’ll live. It was certainly better than having been shot. The other warrior slowed down and stopped to see to Dr. Palmer.

“I guess it’s just you and me now, my dear,” Malcolm sneered at Felicity.

Felicity retorted with a sarcastic glint in her eye, “I don’t see how I am of any use to you, though, now that you have lost Dr. Palmer. Your plan is never going to succeed.”

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed at her in anger. “Then I guess I’m just going to have to kill you, too.” He pointed the pistol straight at her face, but when he pulled the trigger, the carriage suddenly came to a screeching stop, and he missed.

Felicity scampered to get out of the carriage before Malcolm had the chance to get up. But just as she descended the steps, Malcolm’s arm snaked around her torso. “Not too fast,” he hissed near her ear. He pointed a gun to her face as he prompted her to move forward. Taking her hostage again was his last-ditch effort to escape, for he had no one to protect him now. Sure enough, when they were both standing on solid ground, Oliver was right in front of them, his bow at the ready.

“Lower your bow, Oliver,” Malcolm ordered. “This bullet can do more than just destroy your wife’s pretty face.”

“Let her go,” Oliver countered with a low growl. His arrow was still nocked, ready to shoot.

“I think not. I have never thought twice about taking a life, all in the name of power. I will not hesitate to do that now. My ends justify my means.”

“Oliver…” Felicity uttered, her voice trembling. She was not afraid. On the contrary, she was emboldened by her husband’s chivalry (if that was even appropriate to describe a native warrior that had come to rescue her). She had spoken his name to ask for a sign, for she did not know when it was that she was supposed to act as he had told her, when he bid her farewell in the villa. Malcolm mistakenly took it to mean that she was scared to death by her predicament, and so he was oblivious to the movement of her hand as she slipped it into her dress pocket.

Oliver did not reply to her subtle request. He looked straight into Malcolm’s eyes and said, “I will say it one last time. Let my wife go.”

“No! _You_ stand down, savage. I will _not_ let her go!”

Oliver saw in Malcolm’s eyes that he would not stand down. He had her, and he was going to hurt her. There was no choice to make.

“Oliver…”

Without shifting his gaze from Malcolm to Felicity, Oliver told her, “Felicity, I love you.”

With those three words, she understood. She pulled the arrowhead out of her pocket and thrust its pointed edge into Malcolm’s thigh.

“Agh!!!” Malcolm cried out, loosening his tight hold around Felicity. She ducked, allowing Oliver to shoot his chest with an arrow. And another. Another.

No one would realize until later that it had taken him three arrows to put Malcolm Merlyn down finally – one for each of the people dear to Oliver and Felicity whose lives the treacherous man had taken unjustly. One for his father. One for Felicity’s father. One for Oliver’s half-brother. No one would realize until later that the carriage had stopped at almost the exact same spot where the ambushes that had killed his father and hers had occurred before. Vindication had come at last.  
Oliver lowered his bow and rushed to embrace Felicity. When they pulled back, they looked into each other’s blue eyes and smiled, tears streaming down both their faces.

“You came for me,” she uttered softly.

“I’ll always come for you,” he replied in complete adoration, as he ran the back of his hand down the side of her face. _“Ay-ayaten ka.”_

_“Ay-ayaten ka.”_

He lowered his head towards hers, and she went up on her tiptoes to close the remaining distance between them, as they captured each other’s lips in a passionate kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have always intended from the beginning for the plot line to come full circle, climaxing and ending at the exact same spot where tragedy had taken their dearest loved ones in the past. It was how to get there that proved to be a struggle for me as I wrote the last few chapters. Every detail had to fall into the right place in a way that made sense. I hope you liked the way the story ends. And just in case you forgot, ay-ayaten ka means "I love you."
> 
> I truly appreciate your patience in following this story to the end. The epilogue will be posted tomorrow. This has been an awesome journey. So much had happened in my personal life during the time I was working on this fic, including my father's passing, and it had taken more resolve than ever to see this through to the end and not quit. Thank you so very much to all of you who have read, bookmarked, subscribed, left kudos, and commented - including all the Guests. You are all amazing!


	36. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the last update. Thank you for reading this far. I am grateful. :-)

** _Almost two years later…_ **

“Are you ready?” Oliver asked her. “The journey is going to take longer than usual.” He smiled at her mischievously.

Felicity raised an eyebrow and smiled back at him. “As ready as I can ever be, considering the weight I’m carrying.” She laughed softly, and he did too. It was wonderful how she was seeing her husband happier since they were married. 

Then she sighed and said, “I miss Starling. That old horse served us well.”

“Yes, it did.”

The first horse they’d bought when they had gone to Christentown together for the first time had retired and eventually died in the village after the second harvest, at just about the same time when the elders of the clan had paid their _fale_ a visit. 

How could Felicity forget that day? Oliver had been busy pounding rice grains beneath the house that day, while she was folding the clothes she had washed in the stream the day before. The civil conversation between him and the elders had quickly turned into a heated argument, and even with her limited Kinanyao at that time, she had understood why the elders had come and why Oliver had been upset. 

At around that time, Chief Muidatu had fallen ill – so ill that not even the village healer nor the prayers of the priestess to the gods could do anything more. The elders had worried that Asintado’s foreign wife still had not produced a male heir for the favored son of the chief, not even a single offspring. Felicity had heard her beloved reiterating that he loved her, and threatening to leave the village for good if they forced him to follow the tribal custom of taking a second wife. But since Wandatu had died when he’d come to Asintado’s rescue at the Merlyn estate more than a year ago, and no other male child of the chief was as capable to lead the tribe like him or Asintado, the elders had wavered in their resolve to persuade Asintado to marry another. They elders had left disappointed yet impressed by the solid resolve of the Chief’s son, which was, to them, an admirable and desirable trait to have in a leader. 

Just like she had quite a few times since the first harvest had passed and she still hadn’t gotten pregnant, Felicity would have cried in frustration at her inability to conceive. But the day the elders visited, she hadn’t cried. In her heart, she had been prouder of her husband more than anything, and that had given her the inner strength not to give in to the tendency to mourn her misfortune. Oliver’s love had been enough, and it still was.

The elders had not come a second time, or a third, for the chief had declared it on his deathbed a month later that his favored son should not be forced to marry another woman if he did not wish to, and that the tribe would do well to wait for an heir from his union with his foreign wife, no matter how long it took. At the brink of death, Chief Muidatu had still had faith in the prophecy, even if he had not lived long enough to see it for himself. 

And yes, things had begun to change significantly after the death of the Kinanyao chieftain, when Asintado had been named his rightful successor. 

* * *

A tribal feast had been held in the village to celebrate the new chieftain’s ascension to leadership, with the elders and prominent families from the other clans on the island in attendance. The new mayor of Christentown had been present – a man by the name of Adrian Chase – and had been accompanied by Lyla Michaels, Roy Harper, and Big John Diggle. A handful of representatives from the colonial government had also been sent by Governor-General Blood all the way from Paradise Point. 

Ever since that fateful day when Oliver, Big John, and Roy had delivered Malcolm Merlyn’s body to the authorities, and then Dr. Ray Palmer, Moira, and Felicity had testified under oath about the atrocities that the corrupt businessman and mass murderer had done all those years, the perception of the foreigners about the Kinanyao had started to change. The government had begun to issue orders that allowed better trade with the natives and to enact less strict policies for security, allowing natives to travel all over the island more freely than before, now that the foreigners understood better that they were not as savage as they used to think they were. Likewise, the natives had understood that although there were indeed foreign plunderers who wanted to take advantage of the treasures of the tribe and the island, there were still those whose intentions towards them were noble. Chief Muidatu had encouraged clan leaders to be a little more welcoming of efforts by groups of foreigners to extend olive branches to the tribe. The relationship between the two peoples had improved, and the incidence of land-grabbing all over the island had significantly decreased. This had led them all – white-skinned and brown-skinned alike – to that audacious day of celebration about nine months ago.

How could Oliver forget that day? It hadn’t been just a day of celebration, with him taking the reins of leadership over the tribe; it was also a day of peace, when he and the official representative of Gov.-Gen. Blood had sealed a peace pact with their own blood, drawn from shallow cuts on their forearms, as was the manner of covenant-making practiced by the natives since ancient times. Oliver had been sure that his father would have wanted to be present to witness such a peace pact, so he had publicly promised himself and his people that he was going to do his best to make sure that the provisions of the agreement were honored as far as their tribe was concerned. 

But that was not the only thing that had made that day special for Oliver. It had also been the day when his Blue Eyes had danced in the Kinanyao way for the very first time. She had danced the _tachok_ with the other women of the tribe, and then she danced the _salip_ without the other maidens, inviting him to dance the traditional wedding dance with her. She had learned the _salip_ and practiced it every day for two weeks with the help of his youngest sister Amihan. They had been deprived of a proper wedding feast when they had been wed rather hurriedly the day he saved her from burning at the stakes, so he had gladly and willingly obliged his wife. To his eyes, she had never looked more beautiful than she had that night, the dancing flames of the giant bonfire casting shadows on the fair skin of her bare limbs, neck, and upper chest. Like the other women of the tribe, she had worn tribal cloths to conceal the parts of her body that only her husband ought to see, especially because of the presence of the foreign guests that might not take such a daring act on her part very well. But even with her breasts modestly covered all the way to her back, and the wrap-around skirt that covered her from the waist to just above the knees, Oliver could not deny how attractive she had been in his eyes. He had been the proudest married man in the feast that night, and he had made sure to let her know just how he felt by dancing the _salip_ like no Kinanyao warrior had ever danced before, to the envy of all the other Kinanyao women present.

Oliver was sure that the night he had intimately shared with his wife on the night of that feast had been the night when Felicity had finally conceived.

* * *

“Goodbye, both of you, for now,” Moira said as she embraced and kissed her son and her daughter-in-law goodbye. 

“Goodbye, Mother,” Oliver replied.

“Thea and I promise to visit as soon as you send word that that my grandchild has arrived.”

Moira knew that she would miss them sorely. The past eight months had been the happiest she had ever been for more than fifteen years.

Oliver and Felicity had stayed with her and Thea at the Merlyn estate for the past several months. Felicity had been preoccupied with starting a small school for natives in Christentown. Lyla had given her one of the rooms in her inn to use without charging her for lease, because the generous woman fully supported her advocacy for education among the natives. Even the new mayor had granted permission, and after just a couple of weeks since they had arrived, the doors of the school for reading and writing had opened. Oliver had learned even more things about his family and his people, and he often joined the lessons, admiring the brilliance of his wife even more. In the afternoons, he had taken it upon himself to teach the native boys and girls how to shoot with bows and arrows. The children and the townsfolk, native and foreign, had learned to adore and respect the half-white, half-tribal chief of the Kinanyao, as well as his lovely and intelligent wife.

Every now and then, Oliver would travel up the mountains with either Big John or Roy Harper to see to the village and the affairs of the tribe, leaving Felicity in the care of his mother and sister. Although Felicity had learned to love the village and the Kinanyao and to adjust to the tribal way of life, she had insisted on staying behind for the sake of her young students who had been making impressive progress in just a few weeks’ time. 

The very first time that Oliver had gone back to the village in the Abu Mountain was unforgettable. He had scarcely been in the village for three days when Moira had sent word to him that Felicity had suddenly fallen ill. He had wasted no time coming down the mountain, only to be told by the physician whom Moira had fetched from Paradise Point that his wife was with child. That had been the most wonderful news that he had received in all of his life. The entire household and the servants of the estate had celebrated, and upon sending word to the village, the Kinanyao had also held another feast to celebrate the blessing of Kabuniyan.

Felicity, however, had not been able to travel up and down the mountains in the last eight months because of her condition. She had had a difficult first three months, but Moira had been there for her like a doting mother-in-law helping her son to take good care of his pregnant wife. After Felicity had finally gotten her strength and her appetite back, she had devoted the last five months in teaching the children at the school. She had wanted to give them advanced lessons, and to train young Roy Harper to take over her teaching duties when her time came to deliver the baby.

This was why Moira and Thea were sending them off that day.

By tradition, the Kinanyao expected the possible heir of Chief Asintado to be born inside a tribal village with the blessings of the elders and the gods. (Everyone wished for their first child to be a son.) Felicity had agreed to it, even if Oliver had assured her that she didn’t need to, because she knew how much it meant to her husband. She had also wanted to show the tribe how grateful she was for having accepted her as one of their own. Someday, she still wanted to introduce them to the God she believed in and give them a chance to make their own choices about who or what to believe in. It would truly help if more of the natives could read, because she really wanted them to be able to read her most favorite book of all.

And so, Oliver and Felicity were all set. They had bought new horses to help carry her and their belongings up the mountains, for a carriage would not be able to make it all the way up to village. Big John had offered to join them in the journey, knowing that in her condition, Asintado would certainly need all the help he could get. According to Moira’s physician, the time for her delivery could come at any moment. They only hoped it would not happen until they reached the village and got settled in their mountain home.

After one final embrace with Moira and Thea, Oliver and Felicity left the estate with Big John Diggle, excited for the next chapter in their lives.

* * *

** _A week later…_ **

Blue. His son’s eyes were bluer than his own, bluer than his wife’s. Oliver marveled at the little wonder that he held in his arms. How their tiny infant loved to sleep! But every now and then when he was awake, he would open his eyes a little, and Oliver was sure that they were the color of the clear, summer sky on a lovely day.

_Azul._ That was to be his son’s name. Oliver was sure that Felicity would agree.

Felicity hadn’t really rested yet since giving birth. Soon after the women had gotten her cleaned up, she had asked for the midwife to teach her how to nurse. The birth pangs had come early and too slowly for the midwife’s liking, and the labor had taken almost an entire day. Yet instead of settling on their mat to rest and regain her strength, she was determined to make sure that her breasts were ready for their infant to suck and get nourishment from. She refused to rest until their son nursed, because she had learned from her father, the late Dr. Smoak, that the first milk that comes out of a mother’s breasts were rich in nutrients that would help strengthen a baby’s immune system. Oliver had only watched from afar, admiring his wife and thinking that she was actually the strongest, bravest person he knew.

The midwife, who had been busy massaging Felicity’s breasts for the last half hour or so, called out to him in Kinanyao, “Noble Chief Asintado, your wife is ready to nurse.”

_“Wen,”_ he replied. He brought their son over and knelt on the mat beside Felicity. She received the baby and positioned him such that she could nurse him properly. Guiding her baby’s mouth, she finally got him to latch on and feed. Felicity winced a little bit, feeling the initial discomfort, but after a while, she became more relaxed, a smile blossoming on her face at the sheer contentment that she felt deep inside as she nursed their firstborn.

“We are doing well. You may go now, _Manang_. Thank you for everything,” Felicity said to the midwife.

The midwife nodded in understanding. She stood up and turned to Oliver, saying in their native tongue, “Take care of your wife and child. Kabuniyan is pleased. I’m sure your father is pleased too.” At the doorway of their _fale_, the midwife stopped and turned back to them. “I will be back before sundown.” To Oliver, she said,

“We will prepare the guava leaves. It will help her with the pain. She will heal better.”

“Thank you,” he replied, and then the midwife descended the steps and left.

Once they were alone, Oliver sat down beside Felicity on the mat so that they were both leaning back against the wooden wall of their native house, which to the Kinanyao symbolized the safety inside a mother’s womb. The light coming through the open doorway was just enough to illumine the interior, just enough for both of them to behold in awe the precious little bundle of joy that is their son. He kissed her temple, and she let her head rest gently on his shoulder.

Felicity had never thought this was what God had in store for her when she planned on the trip to the colony with her father. All she had wanted was to make her life count and make a difference in the lives of people. When her father was brutally murdered, she had thought that her dream was no longer possible, especially when she had been so rudely trapped in a marriage of convenience, even if it was one that had saved her life. But now, as she sat in tranquil space, alone with the love of her life and their newborn son, she couldn’t help but think that miracles still happened in mysterious ways. How two people from the same city of origin and subjected to a similar heart-rending tragedy could possibly meet in a distant place and fall in love amidst turmoil, seemed too incredible to fathom, not even her intelligence could grasp it. Oliver had been the key to her survival, and she had been the key to his revival. She now had everything that she ever wanted and more – a school and a vocation that helped others, a family, a loving husband, and a beautiful child. 

One day, she hoped, her mother could see her first grandchild, hoped that the joy that their baby brought would change her mother’s mind about the path that she had chosen to walk. Ray had written her a while back, telling her that her mother Donna Smoak was still grieving the passing of her father. Her mother had not yet written her herself, and knowing her mother, it must have been because she still had not accepted everything that had happened. She had prayed since the day she received Ray’s letter that her mother’s heart would change.

Chasing away the gloom of that memory, Felicity looked at her son in wonderment and said to Oliver, “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is. Just like his mother.”

She lifted her head and shifted a little so that their lips could lock. There was so much love in their eyes, they didn’t need to say the words.

“Oh…” Felicity gasped in surprise, as the little baby tugged at her breast, reminding her of what she was expected to be doing at the moment. Oliver laughed slightly at that. He thought that his son was going to be so much like his mother – always wanting to get her way.

He ran his fingers down his son’s cheek, silently adoring the little child in Felicity’s arms. “His name is _Azul_,” he declared softly.

“_Azul_… I like it,” she replied with a smile, acknowledging what the native name meant. “I’m sure he’s going to grow up strong and brave like his father.”

Strong and brave like his father. The words scared him and challenged him at the same time. The task of leading an entire tribe was not half as daunting as that of raising their son to follow in his footsteps and someday lead. And this was just the beginning. Now that they knew that Felicity was capable of bearing children, he wouldn’t be surprised if they would have more in the future. Oliver smiled, thinking to himself what that would entail. There was no denying that he loved those intimate moments with his wife. 

Not a minute later, a sobering thought filled his mind. What legacy would he pass on to his son? What kind of future was he ushering both his people of origin and his people of heritage into? They were living in such a crucial and pivotal time in history, and he knew in his heart that though better days have come, they would, most assuredly, not be free of struggle. Not knowing what lay ahead, she closed his eyes and prayed for a hopeful future and for continued peace on the island, for the ake of his children and their children’s children.

For now, like his wife Felicity, Oliver Queen, Chief of the Kinanyao people, was happy and content with his lot in life. 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, that's it, folks! I hope you drop a line, even if it's just a phrase, to let me know that you've been there all along. If you can spare the time, letting me know what you liked about this fic would be nice. This has been an amazingly long journey. When I first posted this story here, it took me 10 months to complete it. But it has been worth the time and effort.
> 
> Would you be interested in a sequel? You might have noticed that I have dropped a few hints that allow the plot lines in the epilogue to be open for something like that. I have some ideas, ever since I completed this fic, but I haven't had the time and motivation to write them down. If no one is interested in a sequel, I might as well just forget them. 
> 
> 1\. The tachok is a festival dance from the Kalinga tribe in the Cordillera mountains of northern Philippines. It is usually danced by women during celebrations and happy occasions like weddings, the birth of a firstborn baby boy, or a peace pact called the budong. Dancers imitate birds flying in the air. The music is provided by flat gongs called gangsa, which are played either with sticks or with the bare hands.
> 
> 2\. The salip is a traditional wedding dance performed by a groom and his bride. The man dances with a cloth or blanket, signifying the protection and comfort he promises to give his wife. His movements imitate those of a rooster at love play, aspiring to attract and seize his woman.
> 
> 3\. The leaves of the guava tree have medicinal value and has been known for its healing properties. For women having given birth, it helps heal the wound. The leaves are first cleaned and washed and then boiled. The woman can sit over the container of the boiled leaves and allow the steam (at a safe, bearable distance) to soothe her. Water from the boiled leaves can be used for washing also, when it is no longer scalding hot. I have given birth in the modern age, but I tried this traditional remedy, and it did work wonders. :-)
> 
> 4\. Asul means blue. It's a Filipino word borrowed from the Spanish azul (because the Philippines was colonized by Spain for more than 300 years). Bughaw is actually the Filipino word for blue.


End file.
